


Dragon Child: Part 2 of "A Healer's Touch"

by ScriptrixDraconum



Series: Healer [2]
Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Backstory, Canon Backstory, Dragon Child, F/F, F/M, M/M, Multi, Prophecy, dovahkiir
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-23
Updated: 2013-04-11
Packaged: 2017-12-06 06:00:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 28
Words: 57,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/732235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScriptrixDraconum/pseuds/ScriptrixDraconum
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Part 2 of "A Healer's Touch" starts a month after Part 1 ends and follows the lives of the Dragonborn, Ulfric Stormcloak, and Ralof post-Civil War. Later chapters go into Dragonborn backstory and will feature heavily his wife Eirin (OFC) and their child, the Dovahkiir. (DB/OFC Ralof/OFC Ulfric/OFC Ralof/Ulfric Vilkas/Lydia. Sexual Content. Please read Part 1 first!)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Now and Forever

“I'm so glad my stomach has calmed down. This town smells _awful,_ ” Eirin said, wrinkling her nose.

Fjornir laughed and placed a hand on Eirin's somewhat swollen lower abdomen. “You just want nothing to do with fish lately, _Dyra_.”

“ _Ughh_ ,” Eirin confirmed. “And of course Riften smells of nothing else.”

“I guess you won't want to honeymoon here, then.” Fjornir grinned.

Eirin shook her head. “One night at this inn was plenty for me. Let's just get to the Temple and leave for the countryside as soon as possible.”

“And just what do you plan on doing in the countryside, lass?” Fjornir winked at his wife-to-be. His voice sparkled with that hint of a brogue Eirin loved to hear.

Eirin leaned over and kissed Fjornir. She then looked into his eyes with a wicked grin on her face, and said, “ _Not_ smell fish all day.” She kissed him again, then walked to the dresser and pulled out a green dress from her knapsack. She slipped it over her undergarments. Soon Fjornir's hands were at her back, fastening the toggles.

“Why don't men get to wear such pretty things?” Fjornir asked as his hands felt the contour's of Eirin's hips under the green cloth.

Eirin laughed. “Oh, but you do.” She turned and placed the signature Stormcloak Officer bearskin headdress upon his head. The bear's brown fur was a shade lighter than Fjornir's own brown-red coat. He wore his hair slightly longer than his shoulders now. From each temple, a braid pulled the hair away from his face, in the same style as Ulfric Stormcloak. Fjornir kept his beard full and soft but not too thick – just as Eirin liked it.

Fjornir put on the rest of the Stormcloak Officer's uniform. When he was fully dressed, Eirin ran her hands along the bear's paws that draped over each side of Fjornir's chest. She stretched up to kiss him, but instead looked into his eyes and whispered, “Come on, Bear Man.”

–

The ceremony was quaint with few guests. Lydia, Fjornir's housecarl, insisted on coming, her reasoning being that Riften was full of the untrustworthy and the Dragonborn needed protection. Fjornir's Companion friends from Jorrvaskr, Aela and the twins, Farkas and Vilkas, and friends from Riften, Brynjolf and Vex, were also present.

Fjornir held Eirin's right hand tight. Her family was either missing or deceased, and she had few friends left to call her own—none of them could make the journey to Riften.

Eirin listened to the priest of Mara speak. She'd heard those words so many years ago, but hadn't listened to them back then. She had been entranced at the time by her then-love Vorstag. And then it dawned on her – this was the second time she'd stood in the Temple of Mara, pregnant, marrying a man she loved.

She quickly shut off her thoughts, determined to hear all of the priest's words this time. _This last time,_ she said to herself. She wanted to savor this moment with Fjornir, the man who had never given up on her. Eirin realized that Fjornir was watching her and not the priest. She smiled up at him.

_That sweet smile,_ Fjornir thought. When the priest asked if Fjornir would be bound to Eirin in love, he replied, “I do. Now, and forever,” never taking his eyes off of Eirin.

Eirin heard the priest ask her the same, and she replied in kind. At that moment the priest handed them each a gold ring. Fjornir slipped the smaller one onto Eirin's index finger, and she the larger one onto Fjornir's. The priest's assistant did a fine job in finding well-fitting rings.

The couple held one another's hands as the priest finished the ceremony. When the priest gave the final blessing, Fjornir took Eirin into his arms and kissed her. The audience cheered. Lydia attempted an air of good-humor and failed miserably, but no one was looking at her, anyway.

Eirin heard none of the cheers and chatter. Her arms hugged Fjornir's neck and her lips were sealed to his. She gasped when Fjornir lifted her into his arms and proceeded to carry her out of the Temple into the early morning light.

As Fjornir walked down the steps with his wife in his arms, a man approached. “Can I help you?” Fjornir asked.

“I have a letter for Eirin, daughter of Vigge of Helgen. I was told she would be here at the Temple,” the man responded. He was a courier.

Fjornir stood Eirin on her feet.

“I'm Eirin,” she said.

The courier handed her the sealed letter. “Glad I finally found you. You're a hard woman to track down.” He saw the wedding ring on her finger and added, “Congratulations.” He smiled and left.

Eirin looked up at Fjornir, then back at their friends who had gathered behind them in front of the Temple.

She opened the letter. The writing was rough and unskilled.

The writing of a child.

_Auntie Eirin,_

_It's me, Haming! I hope this second letter can find you. I wrote one before with Grandpa Froki's help. We thought you were in Markarth but the letter came back to us. Where are you? Grandpa was taking care of me but he's getting sicker. I don't know what to do. We live in the south, in the mountains, pretty far from home. A dragon attacked home. It killed Mom and Dad. I ran away to Ivarstead. That's where Grandpa found me. Do you know where he lives? I know it's not too far from a river. Please come if you get my letter. I'm really worried about Grandpa Froki and I don't know where Grandpa Vigge is. I hope I see you soon._

_Haming_

When Eirin finished reading she handed the letter to Fjornir. He read the message, then looked at Eirin and said, “I think I know where he is.”


	2. A New Beginning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fjornir and Eirin, Ralof, and Ulfric begin new lives post-Civil War.

Eirin and Fjornir left immediately to the location Haming hinted at in his letter. As they had hired a horse-drawn cart to take them to Riften from Whiterun, they hired another to take them along the road south of Riften that hugged the mountain foothills and followed the river west-northwest. Lydia rode with them.

Before leaving, Fjornir had thanked their guests for coming, and for the wonderful party the night before held at the Bee and Barb. He told his friends from Jorrvaskr that he'd return soon.

Eirin and Fjornir sat arm-in-arm on one side of the cart. Lydia sat at the rear on the opposite side, trying not to notice the newly-wed couple's inaudible whispering and annoyingly sweet kissing. Fjornir occasionally checked their surroundings, looking for the area where he saw the shack.

While they were readying to leave, Eirin asked Fjornir how he knew, or thought he knew, where Froki lived. “I was hunting a dragon in the mountains south of Ivarstead some time after Helgen,” he had said. “I remember seeing the glow of a small fire, and a cooking pot. I thought it odd for someone to live out in the middle of nowhere. It might not be where your nephew is, but it doesn't hurt to check.”

Eirin tried to remember the last time she'd seen Haming. He and his parents, Torolf and Eirin's older sister Matlara, had traveled to Markarth when the boy was about five years old. Haming was almost twelve now.

When the cart pulled nearer to where Fjornir had found the dragon, he told the cart driver to stop. “We have to walk from here,” Fjornir said. He handed the cart driver some gold pieces and asked him to wait.

The trio hiked up the mountainside, Fjornir leading the way and Lydia taking up the rear.

Lydia thought Eirin's backside looked fat in that green dress.

“There!” Fjornir pointed to a shack on a cliff side. He took Eirin's hand and the trio walked the steep climb.

“Stop!” An insistent voice shot down at the trio from the top of the hill. “I'll shoot you, I will!” They stopped to search for the source of the voice, and found a boy holding a loaded hunting bow aimed directly at Fjornir.

Eirin shielded her eyes from the sun and looked up the hill. “Haming?” she asked the boy.

The boy lowered the bow, examining the woman who said his name. “Auntie?”

“Oh, Haming!” Eirin began to cry as she scaled the steep hillside. She made it to the top and was greeted by the boy.

“It's you! It's really you!” The boy dropped his weapon and hugged the woman tightly.

–

“Ralof, a friend is here to see you.” Gerdur walked up to her brother. Behind her stood an impressive Nord woman with sea-blue eyes and wheat-blonde hair set back in a short braid.

After Ralof lost his memories at the battle for Fort Hraggstad, his sister had been successful in convincing him that he was, indeed, named Ralof, and that he was her younger brother. The fact that Gerdur let him move in with her and her family and insisted on taking care of him was enough to convince Ralof that she was telling the truth. He was comfortable around Gerdur and her little boy, Frodnar. His sister's husband, however, scared him a little, but only because he was as big as an ox. The Stormcloak army was well aware of what had happened, and occasionally Ralof's friends traveled to Riverwood to check on him.

Ralof was sitting on a tree stump near the mill where his sister and brother-in-law Hod worked. The woman Gerdur introduced to Ralof was named Brynja. Ralof assumed she was a soldier, just by the look of her. When only soldiers claiming to be his friends came to visit him, Ralof began to believe Gerdur when she told him that he was a Stormcloak, too. After introducing Brynja to Ralof, Gerdur put her hand on her brother's shoulder for a moment, then went back to work.

Brynja stood in front of Ralof. She was wearing thin hide trousers and a hide vest that showed off her muscular, scarred arms. Ralof found it strange to see a woman dressed as a man, but since she was a soldier he didn't think much of it.

“Stormcloak?” Ralof asked her.

“What else would a Nord be?” She smiled, but her smile soon faded as she gazed upon her best friend of the last ten years when he showed absolutely no recognition of her whatsoever. “Nothing at all, eh?”

Ralof shook his head. “Sorry.”

Brynja sighed and sat down next to him. “I suppose I shouldn't be surprised since you didn't even remember your own name.”

“It's funny, really.” Ralof said. “I have no idea who anyone is. But I know that I write with my right hand, that what I'm smelling right now is pine and mountain flowers, and that you're wearing men's clothing.”

Brynja laughed.

Ralof let out a long, deep sigh. “I just don't understand it.”

“You _died,_ Ralof. Maybe... I don't know. Maybe that's what mortals sacrifice if they are brought back to life.”

Ralof looked at the woman. “Everyone says that,” he said, greatly unsatisfied.

Brynja returned his glance. “Do you remember anything about it? Being dead?”

This question was new, and it surprised Ralof. He had to think about what his answer would be. “I don't think so. I never thought about that. But....” His brow creased in concentration. “No. Nothing.” His voice quieted. “Nothing....”

Brynja's gaze moved from the man's sorrowful expression and landed on a bracelet she'd never seen before. “What's this?” She felt the off-white cylinder with her fingers, then rolled it on its leather thong tied at the man's left wrist. “Is that a rune?” She felt the squared edges that looked like a fish with two heads.

“I think so; I think that's what Gerdur said....” Ralof looked at the bone bead “She gave it to me a few days after I came here. Or, came home.... Told me that I gave it to a friend of mine many years ago, and that they hoped it would bring back memories.” He spun the bead against his skin.

“Has it?” Brynja asked.

“No.” The pair frowned at each other. A while later, Ralof asked, “How long have we known one another, Brynja?”

“About ten years,” she smiled.

“Were we close?”

“Very,” she replied. “Best friends, really. We trained together. Had each other's backs ever since....” She cleared her throat to prevent herself from crying.

“I'm sorry. This must be hard for you....” Ralof felt horrible.

“Yeah, well....” She cleared her throat again. Her voice lowered. “No reason we can't start again, eh?” She play-punched his upper arm and laughed.

Ralof smiled at her and chuckled. “Suppose not,” he replied.

Brynja was relieved to see Ralof in relatively good spirits. She missed her friend, and even though the man in front of her was not Ralof, not really, he still acted like him. She decided to stick around in Riverwood for a little while longer, hoping that reviving her friendship with Ralof would take her mind off of her own troubles.

–

“She'll be down in a moment, Jarl Ulfric,” Jorleif announced.

Ulfric grumbled. “Women and their dresses....”

Galmar let out a snorting laugh.

Jorleif gave Ulfric a once-over, straightened out the Jarl's fur coat, and nodded. “There. Now, just try not to snarl at the woman, hmm?” The steward smiled.

“I don't _snarl_ ,” Ulfric insisted.

“Mmhm.” Jorleif smirked at the Jarl. “She's nervous for a reason, Ulfric, and it's not because you're going to be High King.”

Ulfric's upper lip curved into a silent snarl as he looked at his steward.

Jorleif sighed. “Well, she's a veteran Stormcloak. Maybe she'll actually like the fact that you're scary.”

Galmar couldn't hold in his laughter. Ulfric shot him a look which only made the commander laugh harder.

An older woman entered the main hall of the Palace of the Kings from the map room and cleared her throat. The three men turned to her. From behind the older woman emerged a thin, tall blonde woman with dark blue eyes. She wore a blood-red velvet dress and a gold-and-ruby circlet around her brow. Though this was not her first time meeting the Jarl – she fought alongside him and the other Stormcloaks at Solitude – she was nervous. Very, very nervous.

Her voice was shaking, but her radiant smile never faltered. “Jarl Ulfric,” she lowered herself in a lady-like bow, a movement she was not at all accustomed to.

When she rose, the Jarl took her hand in his, and bent forward to kiss it. He rose and, looking into the woman's eyes, spoke in a lighter, more cheerful voice.

“Good evening, Silda.”


	3. Just Friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ralof finds comfort with an old friend. NSFW.

 Brynja rented a room at the Sleeping Giant Inn, but before she went to bed she decided she was in serious need of a bath. She grabbed a clean linen cloth and made her way to White River.

The summer night was warm, and somewhat humid. She was glad to find that the late summer biting bugs were not out yet. Brynja walked west for a short while, and saw what she thought would be a gentle enough part of the river. In the fading twilight, she thought she saw a mudcrab in the water. She approached quietly, willing her eyes to see better in the dark. Brynja let out a startled gasp when the mudcrab jumped up from the water and turned into a large blonde-haired man who just wanted to wash his hair.

“Hey, Chubby,” Brynja said as she approached the riverbank.

Ralof turned at the unexpected voice. He took a moment to focus. “Brynja? Did you just call me--”

“Chubby, yep.” She began to undo the ties on her trousers. “You've had a bit of a belly for a while now, but, _gods_....” Her trousers fell to the ground.

Ralof's eyes went wide and he immediately turned the other way. “What are you doing?”

“I smell like a horse, what do you _think_ I'm doing?” She slipped off her vest, chest binding and loincloth, and jumped into the water.

“But, you're....”

“Naked, yes. As are you.”

Ralof stood in silence with his back to her.

Brynja laughed. “Ralof, we've been comrades for a decade. We've seen each other naked countless times.”

“We... have?”

Brynja considered how that must have sounded. “No! Not like that. I just mean, you know, bathing, changing clothes. Nothing romantic.” She suddenly realized that what she said was a partial lie.

“So... we're not....”

“No, Ralof. We never thought of one another in that way.”

“Oh...” He kept his back to her.

Brynja began to get annoyed. “They're just _breasts_ , Ralof. Your _sister_ has them.”

He looked back over his shoulder for a quick glance, but turned away again.

Brynja swan the short distance up to him. “It was never like that, Ralof, really. Now just turn around and relax with your old friend, hmm?” She gently placed a hand on the man's upper arm and urged him to turn. He tentatively complied, and avoided looking at anything below the woman's shoulders.

Ralof thought the woman looked different now in the dim moonlight. Without her hide clothing and with her hair untucked from the braid, she looked much more feminine. Ralof kept his distance from her, and continued to wash his skin with a linen cloth.

Brynja ducked under the cool water to wet her hair. When she emerged, Ralof accidentally saw her full breasts. He couldn't help but stare; they were much bigger than he noticed before when they had met. Brynja saw him looking and laughed. His expression was priceless. “You're like a young boy seeing a naked woman for the first time.”

Ralof frowned. “That's _exactly_ what it feels like, Brynja.”

Brynja stopped laughing. He was right. She dropped her hands from her hair and stood in front of him. She was nearly as tall as Ralof, and the water only covered her to just above the navel. “I'm sorry, Ralof. To me you're still Ol' Chubby, my best friend. Never my lover. Honest, I just desperately needed a bath.” Ralof saw her serious, somewhat sad expression and knew she was telling the truth. “Just keep telling yourself that I'm 'one of the guys'. You'll get over my physical body soon enough.” She turned and swam back to her clothes pile where her own small linen cloth lay.

After a while, Ralof spoke again. “I'm not chubby.”

Brynja snorted when she laughed. “You should have seen yourself ten years ago. Scrawny little thing.” She swam back over to him. “Now look at you. Like a prize, beefy bull.” She patted his stomach and chuckled. She turned to the side and resumed bathing herself.

As Ralof washed his torso, he couldn't take his eyes off of Brynja. _One of the guys_ , he repeated to himself. The reminder didn't help; he felt his loins stir at the sight of Brynja's waist and breasts. _One of the guys,_ _o_ _ne of the guys,_ _o_ _ne of the guys._ Ralof closed his eyes and turned. His cloth accidentally brushed against his own erection which now skimmed the water's surface. _One of the guys._ _She smells like a horse._ _One of the guys._ _Horses, horses, horses._ He washed the remainder of his body. His erection remained. Before he could stop himself, a growl escaped his mouth.

“You alright over there?” Brynja walked the short distance over to him.

“No, I'm not alright, Brynja.” Ralof threw the cool, wet linen over his face and proceeded to recline on a partially-submerged large rock that cut into the riverbank.

Brynja laughed. She walked up to him and reached for the cloth covering his face. Just as she touched the corner of the cloth, she felt his erection on her thigh. She lurched back to the other side of the river. “Oh,” she said. “I'm sorry, Ralof. I didn't mean to... um....”

The man groaned and put his hands over the wet cloth.

If this scene didn't make Brynja so sad, she would have laughed again. She sighed. “I'll go.” She turned back toward her clothes pile but Ralof grasped her arm and pulled her back.

Holding her upper arm, Ralof stared at the woman. With his free hand, he brushed her lose, wet hair off of her broad shoulder. “Are you _sure_ we never thought of one another... in that way....” Brynja noticed his voice had grown husky. She'd never heard him like this.

Ralof's hand delicately traced the contour of her collar bone, but Brynja grabbed it and held it away from her. “Never, Ralof. I told you. I was just one of the guys. _You_ had eyes for someone else, and I wasn't interested in you, either.”

“Who?” he asked. Brynja still held his hand, and he still held her upper arm. “Who did I have eyes for?”

Brynja swallowed hard. She knew what Ralof had told her was a secret, shared only with her because he knew he could trust her. But that relationship was now over, and the other party certainly did not want anyone else knowing about it. “It doesn't matter now, Ralof. That relationship ended.” She dropped his hand into the water with a splash. “Many did....” She looked away.

Ralof moved closer to her. His grasp on her upper arm turned into a caress. “My past is gone, Brynja.” His hand moved to her neck. “All I know is the present.”

When his hand slid to her breast, Brynja swatted it away. “Ralof! Please! You're not yourself.”

“No, I'm not!” Ralof shouted. His voice calmed. “I'm no one, Brynja. I don't know who Ralof is. I don't know who _you_ are. But, I know that I desire you....” In his frustration he pressed his hands down his torso, pushing inward against the muscles. “That's all I know, right here, right now. Whatever we were....” He frowned. “It's gone.”

His words hit Brynja harder than he had intended, and harder than she expected them to. She thought of her own lost lover who left her only one week ago. Emotion won over, and Brynja began to cry. Ralof felt horrible again. He took two steps and tentatively took Brynja into his arms. She cried against his shoulder. When she was able to compose herself, she pushed herself free of Ralof's embrace and turned away, but Ralof caught her arm again and pressed himself against her back. His arms wrapped around her from behind. The sensation only brought fresh sobs from the woman. She hated herself for crying. Ralof leaned forward and pressed his lips against the side of Brynja's neck.

Ralof had never kissed Brynja before, not on even on her cheek. She found his lips to be surprisingly soft. _Like_ _Silda's_ , Brynja thought. The blind sensation sent shivers deep within her body. The stiffness of his erection reminded her that Ralof was a man and not her lost lover. Memories of Silda using a stone phallus to pleasure her aroused her further. She pretended that Ralof was her lover. Her sobbing quieted.

She felt Ralof's strong, large hands caress her hips and breasts. He pressed urgently against her from behind. Brynja was surprised at her desire to kiss the man behind her. _No,_ she told herself. _It's Ralof. Ralof!_

She felt a hand slip between her legs. With a gasp, she felt her tense muscles relax into the large man's body that held her. Large fingers penetrated her, and another hand traveled around her front and began to tease her most sensitive places. Ralof's mouth continued to suckle her neck. Brynja began to moan. Ralof's hands quickened their pace. Before her body began to convulse in a wave of pleasure, she sobbed Ralof's name. As the multitude of sensations climaxed, her body melted into Ralof's. He held her steady with both hands which moved from between her legs to her torso and breasts. He ran his hands over her entire body. _It's not Ralof... not Ralof..._ she thought.

The man who Brynja refused to admit was Ralof turned her around. He leaned back onto the stone-lined riverbank and pulled Brynja against him. With eyes closed, Brynja submitted to his kiss. _So soft_ , Brynja thought. Desire took over her completely.

Ralof reached down and guided himself into the woman. Though she was heavily muscled, Ralof was able to lift her easily. Using the stone as a brace, he held Brynja against his waist. Her legs wrapped partially around his enormous thighs. Ralof moved Brynja up and down against him. Brynja was not used to his size – her stone phallus was smaller – but she felt no pain. She felt her pleasure mounting quickly. Ralof's own grunting signaled his own imminent release. Brynja's arms hugged Ralof's neck tightly as she climaxed, crying out in pleasure. Ralof thrust her hips hard down to his, again and again, until he nearly screamed in his own climax. Ralof held the woman close, not willing to let her go just yet.

Brynja's breathing slowed, and her grasp around Ralof's neck loosened. She climbed off of him and sank back into the river. She was surprised that she allowed herself to succumb to Ralof's embraces. Surprised that she responded at all. She told herself it was just the pain of having lost Silda. The pain of having lost her best friend to amnesia. And the loneliness. _Yes, loneliness,_ she convinced herself.

Ralof approached Brynja, leaned forward, and kissed her lips again. She reluctantly gave in, again. _Just friends, just friends, just friends,_ she repeated to herself, again and again, as Ralof's warm tongue met her own.


	4. Consequences

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fjornir’s actions anger Lydia, and Brynja regrets her own. NSFW.

 Some time after nightfall, Fjornir, Eirin, Lydia and Haming arrived by horse-drawn cart to Whiterun. During the journey, Haming had asked Eirin about her companions. She introduced Fjornir as her husband, and Lydia, his housecarl. Fjornir had to explain to the boy what a housecarl is.

Haming whispered to Eirin, “But I thought you married to Vorstag. The man with the tattoo.” His hand moved over his own face in a spiral.

Eirin frowned. “We severed our bonds.”

“Oh,” the boy said. He then commented quietly about Fjornir, who was still wearing his Stormcloak Officer uniform. “I like your new husband. He looks like a _warrior!_ ”

Eirin smiled. “He is,” she confirmed.

At Fjornir's house in Whiterun, Haming and Eirin talked for a long time that evening after dinner. The boy told Eirin all about his life after fleeing Helgen.

“I'm so glad you found me, Auntie,” Haming said sleepily, looking up at Eirin from his bed.

“So am I, Haming. I only wish I had found you sooner.”

Haming smiled, then yawned.

\--

Eirin walked into her bedroom and closed the door. Fjornir looked up from the book he was reading and smiled. “How is he?” he asked, then placed a bookmark between the pages before putting the book on his side table.

Eirin sighed. She lifted her dress above her head, folded it, and placed it on top of the dresser. “He's fine. Tired. But happy. He's sleeping in Lydia's bed.” She removed her undergarments.

“Where is Lydia sleeping?”

“A bedroll next to him.”

Fjornir chuckled. “She must love that.”

Eirin smiled at her husband and joined him in bed. “Haming really is a brave young man, now.” She snuggled up against Fjornir. “Froki was able to travel to Ivarstead to send that letter out with a courier, but once he got home he never left his bed. Haming said he had a cough that never stopped. When Froki died, Haming buried Froki all by himself, then hunted and gathered fruit to feed himself.”

“A brave boy indeed. Did you know Froki well?” Fjornir asked.

“No, not really. I met him at my sister's wedding, and only once after that.”

Fjornir wrapped his right arm around Eirin. “Any news about your father?”

“No. Well, yes. Some people replied to my letters. They have not seen him in months.”

“I'm sorry, _Dyra,_ ” Fjornir said, then kissed Eirin's forehead.

“Well, that courier eventually found me all the way in Riften. I'm sure I'll be even easier to find now that I'm staying in one place again. If my father is alive... then he'd try to find me, too.” The couple sat in silence, and then a question popped into Eirin's mind. “How old were you when you arrived at the orphanage?”

Eirin felt Fjornir's body stiffen. “Very young, so I'm told. Barely crawling.”

“Who named you?” Eirin took Fjornir's left hand into her own.

“My parents. They wrote my name on a piece of paper that was tucked into the basket with me.”

“Have you ever tried to find them?”

Fjornir frowned. “No. They could be anyone. Anywhere. Dead, for all I know. I had asked the orphanage headmistress again and again.... There were no clues.” Fjornir grew uncomfortable. His memories of the orphanage were not pleasant.

Eirin kissed Fjornir's shoulder, then said, “I think we should adopt Haming.” She looked up at Fjornir.

He turned to Eirin. The hopeful look on her face told him that saying no was not an option. He smiled. “Of course we should. He's your family.” Fjornir leaned down and kissed her lips. His right arm tightened around her shoulders while his left hand reached up to caress her cheek. He gazed into Eirin's eyes and smiled, but said nothing.

Eirin laughed. “What are you thinking about?”

Fjornir moved from his position at her side, crawled on all fours and hovered over her. Eirin giggled, and wrapped her hands around his bulging biceps. Fjornir grinned. “We never did get that honeymoon in the countryside, did we, lass?” He lowered himself enough to kiss Eirin's mouth. They had not made love since the night she became pregnant, and he was hungry for her. Fjornir had often made advances toward her since, but she had been either unresponsive with depression, or ill with morning or afternoon sickness from the pregnancy.

But now, Eirin eagerly returned his embrace. She lifted her legs and wrapped them around Fjornir's waist. Her calves brushed up and down against his backside. But Fjornir's mouth suddenly lifted from hers and he looked down at his wife. A new thought entered his mind. The look on his face frightened Eirin. “What? What's wrong?” Her hands cupped his soft, bearded lower cheeks.

“Can we... with the baby?” Fjornir looked terrified.

Eirin's expression changed from worried to amused. She laughed. “Of course we can.” But she then realized there may indeed be an issue. “Except....” Eirin bit her lip.

“Except?”

Eirin tried to think of how to explain the problem. “Well, right now, I'm sure it's fine, but... in a few months....” She bit her lip again.

“What?” Fjornir asked. Eirin kept biting her lip. “Eirin, what?”

She decided to just say the words. “You're really, really big, Fjornir.” The man merely stared back at her, not sure of what to say. “It's fine, really. I'm sure it will always be fine, but, sometimes... _not_ often, but sometimes it... hurts a little. Just because of your size, and then I feel cramping inside. I don't think it will matter, but, perhaps later on, we'll need to be a little gentle. That's all.”

Fjornir's confused, worried and somewhat shocked expression morphed into a big smile. “I think I can live with that,” he said. “Why don't we practice a little, eh?” He kissed Eirin again. Not forceful and hungry this time, but gentle.

Almost too gentle, Eirin thought. She greatly desired her husband's touch, his weight on her body, his strong hands gripping her hips. She wanted more of their time together outside of the military camp, that uncontrollable lust that overcomes any and all sense. But when Fjornir's lips moved to that special spot on her neck, her muscles went weak and she had no choice but to let her husband do whatever he wanted, how he wanted.

As Fjornir's mouth, lips, and fingers explored her body without even a hint of allowing her to climax, she began to clench her fists and whine. Her hips squirmed in frustration. Fjornir looked up at Eirin's face, her pouting mouth and creased brow, and grinned wickedly. Eirin whined again.

Fjornir decided he had tortured her long enough, and kissed a trail from her navel, over her rounded lower abdomen, ending at her mound. His tongue traced the length of the cleft in her mound. Fjornir spread her folds with his thumbs.

Eirin bit her lip to prevent herself from crying out when his tongue teased her sensitive node. Her hips moved against Fjornir's mouth. Eirin put a pillow over her mouth to muffle the moaning she felt building within her. Fjornir moved his tongue faster. He held Eirin to him, preventing her from squirming away from the intensifying source of her pleasure. Even when Eirin bucked her hips against him and he heard her muffled moans, he refused to release Eirin from his grasp. He stiffened his tongue and entered her, tasted her, and began to tease her again. He felt Eirin's body shudder. Her hand grasped his hair, holding his head in place. Fjornir's mouth suckled at her most sensitive area, but he soon replaced his lips with a frantically flicking tongue.

Eirin's back arched and her hand grabbed the bed linens. Her body began to convulse in a second climax. She wanted to scream out in pleasure, but instead resorted to biting into the pillow she held over her mouth. Her instinctual scream sounded out in a muffled squeal.

Before Eirin's second climax faded, Fjornir knelt before her and entered her. Her wetness was extraordinary and he slid into her easily. He lifted her legs onto his shoulders and kissed her right ankle.

Eirin wished they were in the middle of nowhere, where her cries and moans would only scare away the wildlife and not the other occupants of their home. She removed the pillow from her face and bit her lip instead. Fjornir gazed down at his wife as his thrusts increased in speed and depth. Fjornir leaned forward and Eirin's ankles hugged his neck. Eirin felt him enter her deeper now.

Their eyes locked onto one another's. Eirin's mouth opened in silent moans. Fjornir tried to contain his own sounds of pleasure. Eirin moved her hands to Fjornir's face and urged him lower for a kiss. Her legs splayed outward, lowered, then wrapped around Fjornir's waist. Their tongues caressed each other's as Eirin's feet urged Fjornir to push into her harder and faster. Her arms wrapped around his neck, refusing to allow him to stop kissing her. Fjornir felt his own climax nearing, and slowed his thrusting. Eirin's mouth vibrated against his in a whine.

Fjornir grabbed Eirin's waist and flipped onto his back, holding Eirin on top of him. Her breasts hung heavier with her pregnancy. Fjornir sat up and suckled at each nipple. Eirin's legs shifted to wrap around his waist. With her arms around his neck and with the aid of Fjornir's hands on her hips, Eirin was able to lift herself up and down onto him. Fjornir found the special spot on her neck again and Eirin let out a moan. She bit her lip to stop the sound. Fjornir knew he couldn't last much longer. He began to grunt quietly.

Eirin leaned back and grasped at Fjornir's lower legs. Fjornir watched her breasts bounce as her body moved up and down. The spectacle was too much for him, and Fjornir climaxed immediately. The two failed in quieting their moans. Eirin hoped the closed doors kept their noise to a minimum.

The newlyweds collapsed next to one another on their bed. Eirin was completely drained, and Fjornir's body glistened with sweat. The pair clasped together their nearest hands and slowly began to catch their breath.

–

Down the hall and behind two sets of closed doors, Lydia tried to sleep over the sound of her Thane's love-making. She sat up from her bedroll. The boy in her bed was still asleep; for this, she was thankful. She reclined again, and let out a harsh, growling sigh. In her frustration, she bit her thumb. The pain redirected her thoughts from the yearning between her legs.

–

Brynja wrapped a linen sheet she had brought with her around her wet body and walked over to her pile of clothes.

Ralof splashed out of the river and, though still dripping wet, slid on his lightweight linen summer clothing, foregoing his loincloth. “Brynja, wait.” He jogged to catch up with the woman.

“We shouldn't have done that, Ralof.” She continued walking back to the inn.

“I'm sorry you feel that way.” Ralof walked behind her.

“It's not who we are,” she said in an assertive voice.

“I told you, I don't know who _we_ are.”

“I shouldn't have let it happen. I'm sorry.” Her pace quickened.

“Well I'm _not_ sorry it happened. I mean,” he laughed, “ _look_ at you. You're magnificent.”

Brynja stopped in her tracks and spun around to confront Ralof. They were just outside the inn. “No, Ralof, I'm not. I'm your _friend_ , and you're not _you._ I knew better than to let things get carried away....” She turned to go but Ralof caught her arm. His physical insistence was becoming a habit and Brynja did not like it. Ralof spun her back around and grabbed both of her wrists. Brynja was strong, but not strong enough to wrestle herself from Ralof's vice-like grip. She stopped struggling and looked up at her friend. “What, Ralof?”

The large man released his hold on the woman and lowered her hands. “I just...,” he ran a hand through his own wet hair. “I've been lonely here. Gerdur and her family are great, but I don't _know_ anyone. I feel completely out of place, all the time. But then you came along today... and I just felt so... at home.” He frowned at the woman. “I just hope that isn't ruined now.”

Brynja frowned back at the man, and sighed. She reached out her hand to his, and held it tight. “Come on, Chubby,” she said as she turned to walk up the stairs to the inn.


	5. Submission

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brynja submits herself to Ralof while Ulfric searches for a wife. NSFW.

 Now that the Civil War was won, Ulfric Stormcloak knew it was time to begin his search for a wife. After the war, the Moot had declared Ulfric to be the rightful High King of Skyrim. Whomever he married would be Queen.

Months before, Galmar, Ulfric's second-in-command and trusted advisor, provided him with a list of eligible women throughout the country. Jorleif, Ulfric's steward, had maintained dossiers on dozens of women over the years for such an occasion. In each dossier was a sketch and description of the woman, her family lineage, and the family's wealth and property information. Every time Ulfric had flipped through the pages, he could only think of Ralof. The process made him ill.

During the battle at Solitude, Ulfric had spotted Silda. He recognized her from her dossier and tried to remember the details about her. _Silda of Dawnstar, granddaughter of Jarl Skald._ _Early twenties. Never married._ Ever since the battle, the woman remained on Ulfric's mind. She was toned and muscular, but quite thin, almost like a young man. Of all the women Jorleif had researched, Silda was the only one to have joined the Rebellion. Everything about the woman appealed to Ulfric. Galmar agreed that their pairing would be most amiable considering her grandfather was an important supporter of the Rebellion. Add the fact that Silda was a veteran Stormcloak, Galmar thought that Ulfric had made the best choice possible. Jorleif sent word to Skald, and the meeting between Ulfric and Silda was arranged.

Silda now sat across from Ulfric at the dining hall table in the Palace of the Kings. The room was empty except for the pair and for Jorleif, who stood out of earshot. Ulfric surprised himself when he realized that he was nervous, though he did not show it. Silda, however, was very nervous, and it was obvious. Ulfric had a reputation for being cold and harsh, and there were even rumors that he preferred the intimate company of men. At the behest of her grandfather, however, Silda agreed at the very least to an audience with Ulfric. She knew that if she were made Queen, Dawnstar would enter into an even stronger alliance with Windhelm, and would receive the protection and wealth of the King. There was no pressure for her to enter into the marriage; this meeting was only an audition.

Throughout the evening, Ulfric made conversation about the war, how he had seen her fight, and that she had impressed him. Silda remained fairly quiet. Sometimes when Ulfric began to talk at length about particular details of the war, Silda's thoughts drifted to her most recent lover, Brynja.

Silda's intimacy with the woman had led to many shared secrets in the dark. Brynja never told Silda about Ulfric's long-lived affair with Ralof, but Brynja did mention to her that Ralof was still in love, whether he admitted it or not, with his childhood sweetheart, a doe-eyed girl named Eirin. Silda later learned that this same Eirin had paired up, in more way than one, with the Dragonborn after Silda's removal from his troop.

After learning of this, Silda's attentions shifted elsewhere. She wanted to get back at the Dragonborn for what he did to her – using her and then sending her away. Silda became determined to use Brynja to get closer to Ralof. The night that Silda found Ralof sleeping aside Brynja in Whiterun was more fortuitous than she could have hoped for. After that night, Silda approached Ralof on several occasions. Though the man always drank himself silly before being intimate with her, Silda considered her schemes a success. In a roundabout way, Silda planned on getting even with the Dragonborn. She only hoped that Eirin was still hung up on Ralof as much as he was her.

Silda's plans came to an abrupt end when she learned of Eirin's pregnancy with the Dragonborn, and that Ralof had lost his memories. Her efforts no longer seemed worth it, then. But when Silda was sent a letter from her grandfather that spoke of Ulfric's need for a wife, and that she was among the women he was to choose from, she saw a new path laid out before her. Silda would become High Queen of Skyrim. _What better revenge is there?_ she thought to herself.

During the dinner, Silda ate too little food and drank too much wine, but she finally felt her nerves begin to settle. Ulfric was now holding her left hand as they fed each other jazbay grapes and bits of bread dipped in Elsweyr fondue for dessert. A dribble of cheese fell onto Ulfric's strawberry blonde beard. Silda stood and reached across the table, then wiped the bit of cheese with her thumb. When she sat back down, she licked, then sucked her thumb clean while keeping her eyes on the Jarl.

Ulfric interpreted the gesture as meaning only one thing. He stood up from the table, walked around the end, and moved to Silda's side. He reached out his large hand to the woman. Silda smiled, placed her hand in Ulfric's, stood, and stepped closer to him. Silently, Ulfric led the woman up to his chambers.

–

“Brynja?” Gerdur's voice accompanied knocking on the inn bedroom door. “It's Gerdur.”

Brynja and Ralof were sitting and talking on the bed. She was wearing clean linen clothing; her smelly hide travel clothes were on the floor. She walked up to the door and opened it to see Gerdur's worried face. “Hello, Gerdur. What can I do for you?”

“I'm looking for Ralof. He went to bathe in the river but--”

“I'm here, Gerdur,” Ralof walked up to the door and opened it wider so his sister could see him.

“Oh, good,” Gerdur let out a sigh of relief, “I was getting worried.”

“Sorry to have worried you, Gerdur,” Brynja said. “We have been having a nice time talking, and trying to revive his memories.”

“Any luck?” Gerdur asked.

“None,” Ralof said bluntly.

“Oh, well, alright then. I'm glad you two are getting reacquainted, though. I'll leave our door unlocked for you, Ralof. Goodnight.” Gerdur smiled and left.

Brynja closed the door behind her. Ralof stood looking down at her, standing between the woman and the rest of the room. “You still have yet to answer my question,” he said.

Brynja voiced an aggravated sigh and squeezed passed his large body. She sat on the edge of the bed. Ralof crawled behind her and they resumed their comfortable position in the small bed. Ralof reclined on the pillow and headboard and Brynja laid herself against his chest and sat between his legs. She thought his softening belly created a nice cushion.

“I don't know why you insist on knowing, Ralof,” she said. “I told you it was in the past. Finished. And what's more, the person would rather the matter be kept quiet.”

“Why? What's the big secret?” Ralof took another sip of mead then passed the bottle to Brynja. “And if it's over anyway, then it won't matter whether I know or not.”

“Exactly, it doesn't matter if you know or not. In fact it's for the best you have forgotten.” Brynja recalled how he had been acting after his fight with Ulfric, and his heartbreak when he learned of Eirin's pregnancy. The situation was just too complicated to tell a man who didn't even remember his own name. She rested her head on his shoulder. The mead was working on her faster than usual.

“I thought best friends were supposed to tell one another everything,” Ralof said.

 _The best friend scroll_ , Brynja thought. “You used to say that to me all the time.” She turned around to look at him inquisitively. “Did you _remember_ that?” she asked him.

“No,” he said. “But you said we were best friends. So, prove it, best friend.” His smile wreaked of smugness.

Brynja's sigh verged on a growl. “Fine,” she said. She turned around on the bed, extended her legs between Ralof's, and faced him. “Do you want the long version, or the short version?”

–

Silda's eyes widened when she saw the splendor of Ulfric's private chambers. Her parent's entire home could fit inside the room.

Ulfric pressed his body into hers from behind. He found the toggles at the back of her red velvet dress and slowly began to unfasten them. When the final toggle was unfastened, Ulfric did not remove the dress, but slowly slipped the fabric off Silda's shoulders. She felt Ulfric's breath on her bare skin, and thought she heard him growl softly.

“Why do you want to be Queen, Silda?” he asked her before kissing the slope of her right shoulder. His hands were holding onto her hips.

Silda stifled a moan, and sent a silent thank you to the Divines that her grandfather had prepared her well for this night. “I love my country,” she said with conviction.

“You served your country well, fighting in the Rebellion.” His facial hair tickled her skin and her body quivered. Ulfric's mouth sucked on her neck.

“It was my honor and privilege, Ulfric.” She neglected to address him as 'Jarl', as her grandfather instructed. To do so would have showed submissiveness, a poor quality in a High Queen – except in perhaps one specific area of life....

Silda felt a stiffness pressing into her backside. With a nudge from Ulfric's hands, Silda's dress fell to the floor. She wore nothing underneath; the only item that adorned her body now was a gold-and-ruby circlet. “You come highly recommended.” The Jarl's hands drifted to Silda's exposed breasts.

“Thank you,” she replied, forcing herself not to moan.

Ulfric smiled. The woman had a bold vivacity about her that he found pleasing. He walked around her to take in the sight of her naked body. Her breasts were small and perky, and her hips and thighs were narrow and slender, and well-toned; Silda was the epitome of the body type that Ulfric preferred.

The Jarl had a sudden desire to take her right then and there, but decided to have some fun with her first, to test further the woman's convictions and complaisance, among other things. Ulfric walked closer to the woman. His face was nearly touching hers when he said, “Undress me.” His voice was soft, but guttural.

The woman smiled wryly, and complied. She looked up at the Jarl with her dark blue eyes, her pupils dilated to absorb the room's dim lighting. Silda slipped off his gauntlets, and then shifted him out of his fur coat. The wry smile never left Silda's face. This amused Ulfric. She then deftly unbuckled the belts encasing his armor, which hinged at the shoulders and was easily slipped off. A heavy cloth tunic covered in chain mail were the last pieces of clothing covering his upper body. She slipped the heavy chain mail over his head, followed by the tunic. The pile of clothes at their feet grew tall.

Silda ran her hands along the Jarl's strong chest. She traced her fingers over old scars and new ones. Her hand ran down the trail of dark blonde chest hair until her fingers met the rim of his heavy trousers. Silda leaned forward as if to kiss Ulfric, but stopped short and locked her eyes onto his. Her hands blindly unbuckled the belt at his waist and before long his trousers fell to his feet. Without shifting her gaze from Ulfric's eyes, she kneeled down in front of him, and slipped off his heavy boots. Ulfric stepped out of his trousers, leaving a loin cloth as the final boundary between their bodies. Silda ran her hands upwards along Ulfric's muscular legs and teased the rim of the linen that wrapped around his waist. She found the tucked corner of the fabric and unbound the Jarl from his restraints.

The size of the man who stood before Silda impressed her. She recalled the size of the Dragonborn, and thought the two men were quite comparable. Ulfric gazed down at the woman's dark blue-violet eyes. He watched as her hands explored the length of his manhood, and as her tongue teased the very tip of his impassioned shaft.

Silda surprised the Jarl when she easily took his entire length into her mouth.

–

“I was in a relationship with a _Jarl?_ ” Ralof's eyes went wide.

Brynja shook her head. “No, Ralof, not a _relationship_ , not really. You two were just lovers. Secret lovers. For a very long time.”

“Lovers. With a _man?_ ”

Brynja was not surprised that Ralof found the truth hard to take. Though relationships with partners of the same sex were not anything shamed-upon by the people of Skyrim, they were still unusual. Most people preferred those of the opposite sex, and some, like Brynja, was occasionally attracted to both men and women, though more often the latter in Brynja's case.

“You were so upset by Eirin leaving you that you could barely stand the thought of being with a woman. _Any_ woman.” Brynja recalled those painful days long ago. “You and Ulfric were lovers for years, but you both accepted that one day it would end when the time came for him to marry a woman.”

Ralof frowned. A little while later, he spoke again. “So, I was once in a relationship with the Healer that was with me when I came here to Riverwood.” His brow creased in frustration, and he looked up at Brynja. “If she left me, what was she doing with me then?”

“She was with the Stormcloaks,” Brynja answered.

“But not with _me?_ ” Ralof's eyes showed immense sadness and it broke Brynja's heart.

“See, this is why I did not want to tell you any of this, Ralof. Your heart had been broken too many times.”

“I know....” He sighed and leaned back against the headboard again. He folded his arms across his chest. “But thank you, for the honesty.” His head sank low and he stared at his forearms. “As long as you have known me, was I ever truly happy?”

Ralof's question hit Brynja hard, and she had no idea how to answer. She knew that the knowledge that his relationship with Ulfric was ill-fated made Ralof sad sometimes, but whenever he was with him, he was indeed happy. Recently his feelings for Eirin were renewed, but she was with the Dragonborn at that point. When Brynja realized the true answer to Ralof's question, she found herself in shock.

“Yes,” she said. “Whenever you were with me.”

–

Ulfric felt his excitement intensifying as Silda pleasured him with her mouth. He wanted the evening to last longer than mere moments, so he stepped back from the woman. She had been pleasuring herself with one hand, and continued to do so while kneeling there on the floor. Her eyes still refused to leave his. The Jarl continued to conclude that Silda was indeed an impressive specimen.

“To the bed,” Ulfric ordered. Silda dropped her upper body and proceeded to crawl slowly to the Jarl's elaborate bed. She leaned forward against the mattress with her knees still on the floor. She turned back to the Jarl for further instruction.

Ulfric approached. He leaned down behind the woman and entered her with his long tongue. Silda let herself moan that time. When the man's tongue drifted up towards to the cleft in her backside, Silda gasped in surprise. Memories flooded her mind of the rumors that the Jarl preferred sexual relations with men. She wondered if this were a sign of truth to the rumor.

Silda then became aware of the absence of the man's touch. Before she could look back over her shoulder she felt Ulfric enter her to the hilt. The sudden fullness made her cry out. The man kept his position within her for a few short moments, then withdrew. Again, he thrust fully inside of her. He repeated this several more times, then began thrusting with shorter motions, but just as deeply. When a wet thumb was inserted into her backside, a deep moan escaped her mouth. The sensation was new to her. She had never explored that area of her or anyone else's body. Ulfric's hand thrust in time to his hips. Soon he replaced his thumb with one, two, and later three fingers. The double penetration drove Silda wild. She reached down between her legs and felt her climax building.

But the Jarl pulled away from her. She looked over her shoulder to see where he went. He walked over to the chest at the foot of his bed and retrieved a small bottle. Ulfric returned to his position. Silda watched as he spread the contents of the bottle over the length of his manhood, and then felt the liquid drip down her backside. Silda felt the tip of Ulfric's erection tease her backside, and then, slowly, enter her.

The new sensation was nearly overwhelming the woman. With every slow thrust, she moaned. As Ulfric moved in deeper, Silda's voice lowered and her moans became more guttural. When her body relaxed, Ulfric's speed increased. Silda continued to pleasure her sensitive node with her fingers as Ulfric thrust faster and deeper into her backside.

She was close to her climax when a sudden stinging smack came down on the left side of her rear. Her body jumped and she cried out in pain. She looked behind her to see Ulfric massaging the flesh that he had so brutally abused. Outside of her line of vision, Ulfric's other hand landed on her right thigh. Silda cried out again, then moaned when Ulfric massaged her flesh while continuing to thrust.

Silda suddenly realized that this must be Ulfric's particular fetish. She felt the need to urge him on. “More,” she moaned while looking back over her shoulder. She thought she heard Ulfric growl under his breath. Again, right then left, his hands came down on her backside. When Ulfric grabbed Silda's hips, his thrusting increased to a frantic speed. Silda began to thrust back at Ulfric, meeting him halfway. Her hand returned to the space between her legs and soon her body was shuddering in the climax of a newfound pleasure. She heard herself cry out Ulfric's name, and heard him grunt ferociously behind her. With a final, hard stinging hand landing on Silda's backside, the Jarl found release inside of her.

–

Ralof looked up at Brynja. He thought she looked sad, and worried. “With you as a friend?” he asked.

Brynja nodded. Suddenly she felt nervous. Her body tensed, and her stomach tied into a knot. She wasn't sure why.

Ralof sat back, studying the woman who was looking back at him. He passed Brynja a fresh bottle of mead, and she opened it and drank half of the contents. She wiped her mouth with her hand, then reached forward to hand the bottle to Ralof. He drank the remaining contents. After he placed the empty bottle on the floor, he looked again across the bed to Brynja. The same worried look was still on her face. “What's on your mind?” he asked her.

While looking into Ralof's clear blue eyes, Brynja finally recognized the feeling in her gut. The feeling was not caused by the mead, but she thought perhaps the alcohol helped her to relax, to stop worrying about how her present actions may affect the past. She finally acknowledged to herself that she and Ralof, indeed, no longer had a past.

Here she was, sitting in front of her best friend, having recently had sex with him for reasons she still couldn't understand. Ralof, who did not see her as a long-time best friend, but rather a comforting presence in his awkward selfless present. Even with the new knowledge of his past, Ralof was focused on _her_. He didn't spring from the bed, determined to hunt down his past loves, he remained in this room, talking with _her_. The sudden realization that it was _she_ who made Ralof happy, truly happy over the last decade opened her eyes to see Ralof, really _see_ him. He was her best friend, and she loved him as such, but in this moment she thought that, perhaps, it was Ralof that had made _her_ truly happy over the years. His friendship and companionship, their mutual understanding of each other's painful past, the ease at which the two had always spoken....

“Brynja?” he spoke her name softly.

She looked up at Ralof. A single tear rolled down her cheek as she realized the reason for her stomach being in knots. She smiled at her friend. “You,” she said quietly. “You're on my mind.” Her mouth quivered between a half-smile and a half-frown. A tear rolled down her other cheek. She wasn't sure why she was crying.

Ralof shifted his legs and knelt before her on the bed. His hands cupped her cheeks and his thumbs wiped away the tears. Brynja's hands gently grasped Ralof's wrists. More tears fell to his hands. Ralof leaned forward and kissed them away from each cheek. He leaned back and looked into her wet blue eyes. “Did I make you happy, too?” His quiet voice was deeper.

Tears fell again. Brynja nodded.

When Ralof leaned forward to kiss her mouth, Brynja did not resist.


	6. A Gift

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The people of Skyrim rejoice in the gift of life. NSFW.

“Alright Eirin, now use the mortar and pestle to turn those dried bleeding crown caps into a powder,” Arcadia said to the woman. “Haming, fetch your aunt that box of dried honeycomb, would you?”

Eirin smiled. Haming really enjoyed working with her and Arcadia at the alchemist's shop. The extra wages that Eirin earned helped while Fjornir was away. Even Haming earned a small wage in exchange for sweeping the floor and organizing the shelves.

Fjornir had put off leaving for a mission in the northwest so that he and Eirin could get married. He insisted they make their union official, so that should anything happen to him, her and their children would inherit his estate – however small it was. He left soon after signing the official adoption papers for Haming. He would never have left so soon after such big life events, but he had put off going to Ustengrav for too long already.

He had told Eirin all about Alduin the World-Eater, how the Greybeards were sending him around Skyrim to track down artifacts important them and to his quest to find and kill the dragon, and that he did not know how long he would be gone.

But not long after Fjornir left, he stopped by Whiterun on the way from Riverwood, heading northeast. He was with an older woman named Delphine—they were seeking a dragon burial ground near the village of Kynesgrove—and they then stopped by again on their way back to Riverwood. Since then, three months had passed.

“Here you go, Eirin,” Haming said to his aunt and adopted mother while he handed her a box of dried honeycomb. Eirin smiled at the boy, then her body jerked in surprise. Haming didn't know what had happened. “What's wrong?” he asked. Eirin chuckled and took the boy's hand. She placed it on her swollen belly. When the boy felt her baby kick, he looked horrified. “What _is_ that?!”

Eirin ran her hand over Haming's hair. “It's the baby saying hello.”

Haming's eyes went wide. “He's punching my hand!”

This made both Eirin and Arcadia laugh.

“What's so funny?” said a man's voice.

Eirin turned to the voice. “ _Bear!_ ” She said her nickname for Fjornir and ran to greet her husband. She planted a big kiss on his now heavily-bearded mouth.

Fjornir hugged her as tightly as he could with her swollen belly pressing against him. “Wow,” he said, backing away to look at his wife. “I really _have_ been gone a long time.” He grinned, felt her belly, and kissed her again.

Haming walked up to Fjornir and tugged at his steel gauntlet. Fjornir kneeled in front of him. “Hello, little man,” he grinned as he mussed the boy's hair. “And how have you been? Kill any dragons while I've been away?”

“No...,” Haming said, looking somewhat disappointed. But his mood lightened when he remembered what he wanted to tell Fjornir. “But I killed an elk! A big cow!”

“An elk, eh?”

“Yeah! My first elk! Aela is teaching me to be a better hunter. She even gave me a better bow. Now I can hunt more than just rabbits and foxes!” Haming pulled at Fjornir's hand. “Come on! I'll show you my new bow and arrows!”

Fjornir laughed. “Alright, alright, I'm coming.” He smiled at Eirin, kissed her, and left for home with his adopted son.

–

Lydia's shield slammed into Farkas's face. The man fell flat on his back onto the paved training area behind Jorrvaskr and the back of his head collided with the hard, sun-heated stone. He was temporarily stunned. Lydia saw blood flow from his nose. The man groaned as he came to. He felt his nose and looked at the blood that stained his fingers. He looked up at Lydia who still stood in a defensive stance.

“What did you do _that_ for?” he asked. His face hurt as much as his pride.

“Because you still cannot defend yourself against that move,” Lydia said as she extended her hand to help Farkas stand.

But instead of standing, Farkas grapped Lydia's sword hand and kicked her elbow. causing her to drop the sword next to the man's body. Still holding Farkas's other hand, Lydia rolled onto her back and pulled Farkas with her, but stopped him from falling onto her with her steel-cuffed boot. She kicked his chest away from her and hopped onto her feet. Neither of them held a weapon, now.

Farkas wiped his nose. “So teach me, then,” he said.

“I have, you just never practice,” she retorted.

“I do! You are just faster with your shield than the others.” He wiped his nose again which still let loose a stream of bright red.

Lydia sighed. She walked up to Farkas and gently touched his nose. The man flinched. “I think I broke you,” she smiled. “Come on. Let's go inside and get you cleaned up.”

Once Farkas's nose stopped bleeding and Tilma reset it as she had done many times before with other Companions, Lydia gave Farkas a cold wet cloth to hold to his face. They then shared a multitude of mead. Empty bottles littered the floor.

In the privacy Farkas's bedroom in the basement of Jorrvaskr, Lydia finally had a moment alone with her lover. She straddled Farkas's lap as he lay back on his bed. He kept the wet cloth to his face as he watched her. Lydia began to remove her armor from the waist up. She then started on Farkas's armor, and removed it from the waist down. Both of them wreaked of sweat and dirt, but neither of them cared.

Lydia removed Farkas's loincloth and began to stroke his hardening shaft.

Farkas groaned. “That does _not_ make up for breaking my nose, Lydia.”

She stopped moving her hand and looked up at Farkas. “Then what will?”

Farkas sat up in front of her and leaned in to kiss her. Before he did, he grinned, and landed a fist directly on Lydia's nose.

–

Fjornir kissed his wife's rounded belly. “So, you and Haming work for Arcadia now?”

“Yes. It brings in a small amount of money, and Haming seems to enjoy it. Although he prefers hunting with Aela, as you have seen.” Eirin smiled.

The baby kicked again and Fjornir finally felt it. His face lit up in a brilliant smile. He leaned his head against Eirin's belly and listened. “He says hello, and.... What's that?...” Eirin laughed. “Oh, it's nice to meet you, too.” He kissed her belly again.

“Crazy Man,” she said laughing. The couple kissed. Eirin ran her fingers over Fjornir's thick red-brown beard.

Fjornir caressed Eirin's cheek and gazed at her for a few moments before speaking again. “I need to talk to you about my next mission.”

Eirin felt her dinner spin around in her stomach. Fjornir never had such a serious look on his face when telling her about where he needed to go, and what he needed to go. “Alright,” she managed to say.

He sighed, and sat in front of her on the bed. “Before I came to find you at Arcadia's shop, I went to talk to the Jarl. We're going to use Dragonsreach for its original purpose, to capture a dragon. It's risky, very risky... but I'm the only one who can call this dragon; he has information we need.”

“About the World-Eater?”

“Yes.” Fjornir looked into Eirin's eyes.

She leaned forward and caressed her husband's thick beard. “Then I can't stop you.” Her mouth smiled, but her eyes were frowning. “When do you plan on doing this?”

“Tomorrow,” he said. Eirin's emotions got the best of her and she began to cry. Fjornir wrapped his arms around her. “I'll be fine, _Dyra._ I've been through worse. A lot worse.”

–

Lydia threw Farkas against the wall. She frantically unfastened the belts around his chest and shoulder armor, lifted it over his head, and threw it to the ground in a thud. Farkas kissed Lydia's blood-stained lips. Her nose was not broken, only bruised. Farkas fumbled around the belts that strapped over her leg armor. Lydia kicked her loosened leggings to the floor. She grabbed a handful of Farkas's long dark hair and kissed him furiously. The pressure of her nose on his hurt and he cried out.

In retaliation, Farkas grabbed Lydia's arms and pressed the front of her body up against the wall. He held her wrists behind her back with one strong hand, and his other reached between her legs. Lydia fought against Farkas's grip and the penetration of his fingers, but could not release her wrists. She instead used her foot to hook around Farkas's lower leg and sent him collapsing to the floor onto his back. She jumped on him and pinned him down, her arms holding his to the floor. Her large breasts pressed against Farkas's bare chest and her legs surrounded his. She felt his stiff arousal laying directly beneath her mound, and rocked her pelvis back and forth, stroking him with her body.

Farkas managed to regain control of one of his arms and he reached up and wrapped his hand tightly around Lydia's throat—not choking her, but he could have, easily. His other hand wriggled free and Lydia felt two hands wrapped around her throat. Her struggling against Farkas's grip only caused her body to rub against him. He felt her wetness. Lydia grabbed his wrists, but could not break free.

Lydia submitted. She lifted herself with her legs, and impaled herself onto Farkas. The shared sensation caused them both to moan. Farkas maintained his grip around Lydia's throat, and Lydia continued to ride her lover. Her hands left Farkas's wrists and reached for his chest. She pinched his nipples hard, and he cried out. Her fingernails drew red lines into the flesh of his torso. Farkas began to thrust up into Lydia. His hands tightened further around her throat. Lydia struggled to breathe. When she stopped moving her hips against Farkas, he used his grip on her throat to throw her to the floor beside him. He grabbed her hips and pushed himself into her. Her lungs screamed with the sudden increase of air. Farkas thrust hard into her from behind. Lydia dug her fingernails into the floor.

At that moment, Farkas's door opened with a bang. “In the name of Ysgramor, what is going on in--” Vilkas walked in on Farkas pounding into Lydia from behind.

When his brother walked in, Farkas did not stop. “Brother! Lovely to see you. How can I help you?” He spoke between pants and grunts. Lydia smiled at her lover's twin.

“I thought I heard fighting.” Vilkas saw blood on Lydia's face. “I guess I was right.”

Farkas growled. “Don't just stand there, brother.” He grabbed Lydia's hair and forced her to look up. “Either leave, or join us.”

Between her moans, Lydia gave Vilkas a lascivious smile.

Vilkas froze in the doorway, not knowing how to respond. In truth, he was jealous of his brother. Lydia was a long-time friend of the Companions and he had always desired her. But this kind of offer was not like his brother. “You're drunk,” he concluded.

Farkas chuckled. “Yes,” he grunted. “Lydia broke my nose. I needed to numb the pain.”

Lydia laughed loudly, then moaned as Farkas thrust harder.

Vilkas stepped into the room, and shut the door behind him. He knew he shouldn't, but resisting was futile. He wanted Lydia. Badly. Vilkas lifted his linen nightshirt over his head, then untied the straps of his linen trousers. He reached down to his growing erection. He watched Lydia's breasts bounce as she thrust back at Farkas. When her eyes opened, Vilkas knew she saw him. She licked her lips, and grinned. Vilkas stepped forward.

In front of Lydia, he fell to his knees, and held his growing arousal toward her mouth. The woman gladly accepted the offer. Vilkas moaned as her warm mouth enclosed around his shaft and her tongue teased him at the same time.

The movement of Farkas's thrusts forced Lydia's body and mouth forward and back again. Vilkas felt the vibrations of her moans around his manhood. Farkas felt his climax near. His fingers dug into the flesh of Lydia's backside as his thrusts grew in intensity. Lydia began to suck harder on Vilkas.

It had been years since Vilkas had been with a woman, and the sensation overwhelmed him. With a load moan, he climaxed into Lydia's mouth. Upon hearing his brother's moans, Farkas let himself go. He grunted with release behind the woman.

When Farkas withdrew, he grabbed Lydia by her arms and sat her on the bed. He spread her legs and tasted the mix of their mutual pleasure. His tongue was intent on driving her to her own climax. Vilkas stroked himself again and felt his excitement rebuild quickly.

Lydia moaned loudly and her body quivered. When she stilled, Farkas stood. He looked at his brother and nodded toward Lydia. “Go on,” he said. “She's been saying how much she desires you....”

Farkas's words surprised Vilkas. His brother's open attitude to sharing his lover felt odd, almost wrong, but he could hardly deny Lydia's wishes. Seeing her body naked on the bed, her own hands fondling her breasts, was too much to walk away from. Vilkas approached Lydia, and continued to stroke himself until he was ready to enter her. Instead of lowering himself to her, he lifted Lydia's hips up to his waist. He entered her easily.

Farkas sat in a chair and opened a fresh bottle of mead. He was spent, and his nose hurt. He was content in admiring the view of his lover being taken by a man that looked just like him.

–

Fjornir and Eirin made love slowly, gently that night. He was careful not to be too rough with her, nor to press against her too forcefully. They sobbed quietly as they kissed one another. They savored each other's touch. Fjornir whispered ancient words that meant nothing to Eirin, but for unknown reasons aroused both her mind and body. Eirin shifted their bodies so that she was on top of Fjornir. She reached down, grasped her husband's erection, and let out her Healing light from her palm and stroked him at the same time. In moments, Fjornir's body tensed as he experienced the most intense release he could remember. His hips thrust instinctively into Eirin's fist, and his own hands gripped the bed.

Eirin giggled. She was happy that Haming had already arranged to spend the night at his friend Lars's house, or Fjornir would have surely wakened the boy. Eirin watched her husband's body shudder in pleasure. His climax lasted longer than usual. When his muscles relaxed, Eirin removed her hand from her husband and crawled up beside him. Fjornir lay still, panting.

When he caught his breath, he asked, “What in the name of the Divines was that?”

Eirin shrugged. “A good luck gift?” She grinned. Fjornir laughed. He wrapped his arms around his wife and held her close for the rest of the night.

–

“Ralof?” Brynja opened the door to their bedroom. Hod and Ralof built the small house together, and it was finally finished a month ago. Ralof asked Brynja to move in with him, and she gladly accepted. The two had been together since the night she realized that she loved him as something more than just a friend.

The blonde man looked up at Brynja and smiled. “Back from Hilde's, finally. So, what was her conclusion? Was I right? Is it ataxia? I've been reading some books on diseases. Interesting stuff, but I'm glad I'm not a healer....” Brynja stood before her lover, unsure of how to tell him the news. Ralof waited. “Well, what is it?” His smile faded when Brynja failed to respond. He stood from the bed and walked up to her. His palms cupped her cheeks. “What is it? You can tell me.”

Brynja's mouth was agape in her failed attempts to form the words. She looked into Ralof's kind eyes. In her 30 years, she had never thought she would be in this situation. But here she was, in a relationship with a man. _A man._ This single thought nagged at her mind.

She finally found the wherewithal to move her hands to Ralof's. She grasped his hands with hers, and intertwined her fingers between his. _Just say it_ , she told herself.

Brynja took a deep breath, and said, “You're going to be a father, Ralof.”

When Brynja's words settled into Ralof's mind, she could see the shock in his expression. Her heart sank when his expression failed to change.

–

In the dim light of the royal chambers, the High Queen of Skyrim ran a hand over the small bump of her lower abdomen. She gazed out of the palace through a slit in a window. The sun was barely beginning to rise, but she could see the snow in the distance sparkle with the light of a new day.

“A new life,” she said to herself, holding her hands over the child within her.

The King stepped up behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist. His hands covered hers. “A new age,” he added. His mouth caressed her neck.

“A new legacy,” said the Queen. She turned to her husband and smiled.

Ulfric's hands wrapped around his wife's beautiful, glowing face. “Better than I could have hoped for,” he said before kissing her. The Queen's arms curved around Ulfric's neck. His hands slid down her soft robe and rested on her waist. Their lips parted and they held one another in a tight embrace.

Looking over Ulfric's shoulder, a calculating smile spread across Silda's face.


	7. Out There

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Dragonborn leaves to capture Odahviing at Dragonsreach.
> 
> [Chapter title and feels inspired by “Normal Song” by Perfume Genius]

Vilkas woke up naked in his bed. His head throbbed, and his room smelled like wet dog. He heard loud snoring. Farkas was curled up on his bedroom floor. Vilkas slinked out of bed and kicked his brother on his bare backside. “Wake up,” he ordered Farkas. His brother groaned and swatted at nothing behind him, then curled back up into himself. “Wake up, Farkas!” he shouted.

Farkas jumped up into a sitting position. He looked around, then found his brother. “What!?” he asked angrily.

“Did we shift last night? I can't remember anything after drinking that mead.”

Farkas rubbed his eyes. “Yeah, right after Lydia passed out.”

“She didn't see us shift, then?” Vilkas looked concerned.

“No, brother. She was asleep in my room.” He laughed. “How did we end up here? The last thing I remember was killing that bear.” Farkas examined his hands. Sure enough, his fingernails were encrusted with blood.

“I've never not remembered shifting before,” Vilkas sat back down on his bed.

“You've never drunk that much _mead_ before, brother,” Farkas reminded him. Vilkas grunted.

Farkas yawned and stretched his arms. “I'm going to go check on Lydia,” he winked, then stood and left for his own room.

Vilkas frowned. He remembered everything about the night's events prior to shifting into a werewolf. Part of him regretted what transpired between him and Lydia. Part of him hungered for more. He laid his dizzy head back down on his pillow and thought of the woman. His aching muscles reminded him of having wrestled Lydia into submission several times. He recalled how Farkas had watched him with her for more than an hour last night. Just watching. The memory gave Vilkas an odd feeling.

Instead he turned his thoughts back to the woman. Lydia on Farkas's bed, on the floor, against the wall. Lydia, taking on both him and his brother with rabid enthusiasm. Lydia moaning, biting, clawing and thrusting. Vilkas felt the raised, sore lines that ran along his upper back. He looked down at the small bite marks on his abdomen.

From across the hall, Vilkas heard his brother and Lydia moaning. Vilkas imagined Lydia with him in his own bed, alone. His hand curved around his growing arousal. He imagined being married to Lydia, no longer bearing the curse of Hircine, having children, and meeting Lydia again in Sovngarde. He imagined that the moans he heard from across the hall came from his own bedroom, and that he was making love to Lydia properly.

Vilkas's body ached to hold her against him.

After he climaxed, he cried.

–

Brynja lay awake in bed next to a quietly snoring Ralof. She stared at the ceiling. The man had barely said anything when she told him that she was with child. With _his_ child. He was in shock. Brynja understood – she was in shock as well. She scolded herself repeatedly for not having taken preventative herbs these last few months. But Ralof couldn't bring himself to even discuss the fact that he was to be a father. Brynja blamed his amnesia, that he was uncomfortable in his own skin, but his lack of reaction to the news, aside from shock, broke her heart.

Ralof had asked her to move in with him. They had made love many times the last few months. _Shouldn't a man expect something like this to happen?_ she asked herself. _Shouldn't have I?_ Brynja turned onto her side and stared at the small candle flame at her bedside. Her breath made the flame dance. She thought about Ralof and their relationship. On at least some level, they loved one another, this was a fact. But Brynja now began to consider that Ralof may have merely been enjoying her companionship, as a friend, a lover.... _What had he said?_ she tried to recall. _He felt 'at home' with me._ She contemplated what Ralof had actually meant by those words. Perhaps a man with a lost mind couldn't even know himself how he truly felt about such things. Perhaps Ralof thought he _shouldn't_ have a baby, a family.

Brynja felt a sudden and intense longing for their days in the Stormcloak army, when they lived in the moment, drank til they collapsed, and joked and laughed about anything and everything. She even longed for the darker days when Ralof had finished training, returned home and learned of Eirin's marriage, and then came to Windhelm a changed man. She recalled the times when Ralof would cry quietly outside of the military camps and she would find his hiding spot, then say nothing to him and merely hold his hand. She recalled those cold, lonely nights when they shared intimate moments, holding one another, and even a few times helping one another find release. That one night in Whiterun was an exception to their normal activities, and Ralof had never found release inside of her before that night in the river three months ago. One month ago, Ralof and Brynja told his sister about their relationship. _'I always knew you two would end up together',_ Gerdur had said. “Always?” Brynja asked no one, aloud.

When Ralof turned in bed and wrapped his arm around her, Brynja stiffened. She wondered if his movement was instinctive, or if he was partially awake and heard her voice. But Ralof said nothing, and continued to snore.

Though the day was already dawning, somewhere between overtired and comforted, Brynja finally relaxed, and slept.

\--

Lydia stumbled into Fjornir's home. Her head throbbed from drinking too much mead last night. Her body ached from wrestling much of the night with Farkas and Vilkas. She made her way as quietly as possible up the stairs. She turned left toward her bedroom but was stopped by the sound of heavy footsteps. She froze.

“Good morning, Lydia,” Fjornir said quietly.

She turned. Her smile was impish, but weak. “Greetings, my Thane.” She noted his steel armor, then stepped closer to the Dragonborn and looked up at him with her big blue eyes. “Off to battle more monsters, are you? Need any company?” Her right hand traced the lines of his decorative armor. Her left hand made a trail of light fingertip touches up his arm.

Fjornir smelled the mead on her breath. He removed her hands from him. “Not this time, Lydia.” He turned and walked down the stairs. “Get some sleep, you look like you need it.” Lydia scowled, and slammed her bedroom door shut behind her.

Eirin put on her new, bigger dress and stepped out of her bedroom. No one was in the hallway; she wondered why Lydia slammed her door.

Once downstairs, Eirin found Fjornir sitting at the dining table drinking honeywater and eating a breakfast of bread, cold roast beef and goat cheese. Eirin kissed the top of his head and hugged his neck. Fjornir kissed her forearm, and his own arms wrapped backwards around Eirin's waist. “Is Lydia alright?” she asked.

Eirin felt a grumble rise from Fjornir's throat. “She was elsewhere last night. I could smell the mead on her. I think she got in a fight at the Huntsman again; she had a bruised nose.” Fjornir lowered his arms from around Eirin and ate more bread. “How was she, while I was away?” he asked his wife. He poured her a cup of honeywater and placed a plate of food in front of her.

Eirin was unable to sit facing the table; her belly was too big. She sat astride the bench and popped a snowberry in her mouth. “Quiet, mostly. Haming and I were almost always in Arcadia's shop, so we rarely saw her. She was ecstatic when we converted the alchemy room into a room for Haming, though, which is understandable. I'm fairly certain she spent some nights away from home, though.”

Fjornir grumbled. “She's not supposed to. She knows that.”

Eirin took a bite of cheese. “You can't keep her here like a prisoner, _Bear._ I have a feeling that's why she's always in such a foul mood.”

“She has always been a bit... snide, with me. I think she resents being assigned as my Housecarl.”

“Why don't you just dismiss her, then? I know that she's taken care of you for months, but you have a family now, and this is a small house. It's beginning to get crowded.” Eirin's words were loaded. Fjornir realized this when she placed a hand on her swollen belly.

Fjornir then recalled the offer Jarl Ulfric had made to him long ago – a home in Windhelm. He looked over at Eirin. “We could move,” he said.

“Move? Where?” she asked.

“Windhelm. Ulfric offered me a home there, months ago, but I hadn't accepted the offer yet. The property is expensive... but I believe I have enough gold saved now.”

“Would Lydia have to come with us?”

Fjornir smiled. “No, she would stay here, take care of _th_ _is_ house. I would sleep here when in the area, but we could live in Windhelm, if you like.”

“How big is this other house? How expensive? Would you have a Housecarl there, too?”

Fjornir wrapped a hand around Eirin's neck and pulled her to him for a kiss. “Huge.... Very.... Yes.... Big enough, you might even forget the Housecarl was there.” He smiled.

“And you're sure we can afford it?”

Fjornir realized he had never revealed to Eirin the full extent of his estate. He stood from the bench and took her hand. “Come,” he said, and led her down into the basement. He walked over to a bookshelf, next to which a wall sconce held an unlit candle. “Watch,” he said to Eirin, smiling. He pulled the sconce forward, and the bookshelf shifted backwards then to the side.

Eirin stood in amazement. She had lived here for months and never realized the house had a secret room. Fjornir had also never mentioned it to her. The latter thought did not please her, but she followed her husband into the room.

Fjornir walked over to a chest and lifted the lid. Eirin stepped up to Fjornir's side and looked into the chest; it was filled to the brim with gold coins and various gems.

“Fjornir!” she gasped.

He chuckled. “I'm sorry that I never told you about this, but now you know. Yes, we can afford the home in Windhelm. We can afford a lot more.”

Eirin ran her fingers over the chest's contents. “Where did all this come from?” she asked.

“Years of odd jobs and favors... but mostly from the last year. Aside from buying this house, my horse, armor and weapons, I had not much need to spend it.” His hand held Eirin's shoulder. “We'll discuss Windhelm more when I return, hmm?” Fjornir led Eirin back upstairs.

The Dragonborn retrieved his helmet and weapons, then turned to gaze at his wife. Eirin thought the man still looked ferocious whenever he wore his horned helm, but when he smiled back at her in full armor, he just looked goofy.

Eirin walked with him out of the house and to the road. Fjornir kissed her firmly on the lips, knelt down and kissed her belly, then turned to walk towards Dragonsreach. Eirin stood in the road, watching her husband disappear into the town.


	8. Dovahkiir

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Dragonborn traps Odahviing, who senses something peculiar about Eirin.

In the late morning, Brynja woke to the feeling of Ralof's mouth kissing her shoulder. His arm wrapped tightly around her waist, and his hand held her abdomen firmly. His lips moved to her neck, and then found her earlobe and gave it a quick nibble. Brynja let out a sleepy moan. “Ralof...,” she said softly.

“Hmm?” he said, his mouth once again kissing her neck.

“We need to talk... about what I told you last night.”

Ralof snuggled closer against Brynja. “What do you want me to say?” he asked, his mouth near her ear.

His question infuriated Brynja. _Say anything_ , she thought. _Anything at all_. Her anger morphed into devastation. Tears welled in her eyes. She held her breath to stop herself from screaming at him. When she calmed, she said, “Whatever you want to say. Whatever is on your mind.”

Ralof turned Brynja onto her back. The tears in her eyes broke his heart. He caressed her cheek with the back of his hand, then wiped a rogue tear away with his thumb. “What's on my mind?” he asked. Brynja nodded. Ralof sighed. “The first thought that came to my mind was... what I would want to name my son or daughter. Do you know what names I thought of?”

Brynja shook her head.

“Neither do I,” said Ralof. “I could not think of any names, other than those of the people I have met since coming to Riverwood. Not one.” He sat up and looked down at Brynja. “The second thought I had was... how can I... _be_ a father... when I can't even recall my own childhood? It's not fair to a child, to have half a father.”

Brynja sat up and looked at Ralof. “You're right,” she said. She held his face between her hands. “I'm so sorry, Ralof, I didn't realize.... You must feel that this is all moving so fast.” She lowered her hands to his. “I was just as shocked as you were, believe me. This... _you_... were the last things I expected.” Brynja held his hands tightly. “You won't be half a father, Ralof. You're here. You... feel.” She kissed his lips. “You love.” Again, she kissed him, and then looked once more into his eyes. “You fear. All of that... that is all you need to know. That is all anyone needs to know.”

Ralof began to cry, but he was smiling. “Love?” he asked her. A big grin spread across his face.

Seeing Ralof cry brought tears to her own eyes, and Brynja nodded. “Yes.” She smiled. “Love.”

–

Fjornir stared up into the sky from the Great Porch. He took deep breaths and closed his eyes. His fists clenched and unclenched. He sent a silent prayer to Talos.

The Dragonborn opened his eyes, and with supernatural power breathed forth from his lungs the name of the ancient dragon: “ _OD... AH VIING....”_ The shout materialized and resounded into the sky. Fjornir's chest was heaving. He readied his warhammer, and prepared himself to use the Shout _Dragonrend._

And there he was, soaring nearer and nearer. Odahviing roared, shaking the palace beneath Fjornir's feet. Palace guards flanked Fjornir's sides, ready to defend against attack. They readied their arrows.

With a swiftness Fjornir had not seen in any dragon except Alduin, Odahviing swooped down and snatched up a guard to Fjornir's left into its enormous jaws. The dragon flew back toward the sky and let loose the guard from its sharp-toothed grip, sending the man plummeting to the far-beneath ground.

Fjornir was horrified. As Odahviing swerved back toward the palace, the Dragonborn took a deep breath, and belted out _Dragonrend: “JOOR... ZAH FRUL_.”A blue haze shone brightly in front of Fjornir and flew in the direction of the dragon. Odahviing's red body became surrounded by a halo of blue light. He roared, and was forced to land, pulled down by the weight of the Shout.

Once the dragon made contact with the Great Porch, he took giant, leaping steps forward, toward Fjornir. Odahviing took a deep breath, then sent dragon-fire toward the Dragonborn. Fjornir held up a large shield in front of his body and ran backwards, towards the doors that lead back into the palace. The fire heated the metal of Fjornir's shield and leg armor. The fire burnt through the leather boots. Fjornir felt his skin burn. When Fjornir's back was against the doors, a loud _thud_ sounded. The dragon-fire ceased. Fjornir looked up from behind his shield.

Odahviing was trapped. Dragonsreach had fulfilled its promise.

–

Vilkas found Farkas eating lunch behind Jorrvaskr. The bright sun was too much for Vilkas, and he stood in the doorway. “Brother,” he said to Farkas, “I need to speak with you.”

Farkas looked up at Vilkas from his chair with a mouthful of cheese. He voiced a muffled, “Now?”

“Yes, now,” Vilkas scowled.

Farkas stood and followed his brother into the Underforge. Inside, Aela was praying. She looked over to the twins, clearly annoyed. “Do you mind?” she asked.

Vilkas stood still and folded his arms over his chest. Aela scowled, then turned back to the stone font. She finished her prayer, stood, stared daggers at Vilkas, and left through the other entrance that led to the outskirts of the town.

Farkas laughed. “What's bitten her?”

Vilkas frowned. He knew exactly what, but the last person he wanted to tell was Farkas. He walked over to the font in the center of the stone room. “I want out,” he said.

“Out?” asked Farkas. “Out of what? The Companions?”

“The Circle,” he said as he spun back to Farkas.

Farkas stared at his brother. “You've been talking with Kodlak again...,” he frowned.

“I thought you wanted out too. Why did you shift last night? Why did I?” Vilkas asked.

Farkas laughed. “I think it was a different kind of release we both needed.” Vilkas's eyes narrowed, and Farkas stopped laughing. “Alright, I admit. After seeing you with my woman, I began to feel jealous – angry, even. But none of that was your fault. Lydia really did ask about you....” He chuckled. “The woman was voracious last night. I was exhausted though, so I let you have her. So... when she fell asleep, I suggested to you that we shift. We did. Instead of taking my anger out on my brother, I hunted down that bear.”

Vilkas stared at his brother. “Since when is Lydia _your_ woman? I thought you two were just... you know....”

An eyebrow raised on Farkas's brow. He walked up to Vilkas. “You _like_ her, don't you?” He laughed.

“I didn't say that,” said Vilkas.

“You didn't _have_ to, brother. We're twins. Sometimes I think you forget what that means.”

Vilkas growled. “Stop reading me, Farkas.”

“Aha! You _do_ like her. I could tell, you know, last night. You looked horrified when I said you could join us.” Farkas laughed again. “That's why you want out, isn't it? You want to marry her! Have ten chubby babies that aren't half wolf--”

“I'm not here to talk about Lydia!” Vilkas growled.

Farkas crossed his arms. “Then what, about that Kodlak's cure? I've heard it all before.”

“Kodlak thinks Fjornir will help,” Vilkas said.

“Fjornir! Why would he help us? Is he regretting joining the Circle? He used to follow Aela around like a pup!”

Vilkas sighed. “Not since he met Eirin.”

\--

 _Sovngarde_ , Fjornir thought. _I have to go to Sovngarde._ His thoughts drifted to the other small issue. _I have to trust_ _in_ _a dragon to get_ _me_ _there_.

Fjornir dropped his shield and sank to his knees. His flesh beneath his armor was screaming. Odahviing's dragon-fire was much more intense than other's had been. The Dragonborn looked over to a guard and grunted an order. “Bring Eirin.” He looked toward another guard. “Help me into the palace,” he ordered. The guard helped Fjornir stand, but touching Fjornir's steel-cuffed gauntlet burnt his hand and the guard lurched back with a yelp. Fjornir grimaced, but managed to slowly walk back by himself into the palace from the Great Porch. The guard with the burnt hand followed him.

Odahviing had promised to help Fjornir reach Skuldafn, where a portal to Sovngarde was made. The Dragonborn would have to ride the dragon to this unknown location. Odahviing reluctantly accepted Fjornir's desire to consider the dragon's offer before agreeing to release him. Odahviing waited in his restraints.

–

Eirin moved as fast as she could up the steps to Dragonsreach. Haming trailed behind her, and a guard followed behind the boy. When Eirin reached the last step to the war room, she saw Fjornir laying on the floor. His armor had cooled enough to be removed. His hands and lower legs were a bright red, surrounded by charred, black flesh.

Eirin cried out and ran to her husband. Haming shouted for his adopted father, but a guard held him back from where Fjornir lay. Eirin immediately began to Heal him, but Fjornir grabbed her wrist. The pressure of his red hand against hers made him wince in pain. Eirin looked at Fjornir, horrified. Her voice was shaking. “I have to Heal you, Fjornir.”

“Be careful, please.” He released her wrist. His arm trembled as he let it fall back to the floor. “I don't want you passing out just to Heal me,” he managed a quick laugh. “I can use the salve on the rest.”

Eirin began again to Heal his right hand. “It wasn't this bad, last time,” she said, quietly.

“It wasn't an Ancient, last time,” he retorted.

When the flesh of Fjornir's right hand changed from red and black to a less scary pink, she switched to his left hand. When she finished the second hand, she began to feel weak. “Some of your flesh had died,” she said. She looked to her nephew. “Bring us some water, Haming?” she pleaded. The boy ran down the steps to the main hall.

“Eirin, please, don't force yourself.”

“I just need to rest a while,” Eirin said. She leaned forward and kissed her husband. “What happened?” she asked.

Fjornir told her about Odahviing, the trap, and that the dragon agreed to help him find Alduin. He neglected to mention Sovngarde, and the requirement of releasing the ancient dragon in order to get there.

“Is it still out there? In the trap? _Alive!?_ ” she asked. Haming ran up the steps with a pitcher full of water and two mugs. Eirin filled the mugs and made Fjornir sit and drink, then she drank herself.

“Yes,” Fjornir finally confirmed.

Eirin stood. She had to see this Ancient, this dragon that burnt the flesh from her husband's body. She spoke, still facing the closed doors to the Great Porch. “Haming, give Fjornir my knapsack. His burn salve is in there. Help him apply it to his hands and feet.” She began to walk to the doors.

“Eirin? Eirin!” Fjornir called after her. He looked at a guard. “Stop her!”

Before the guard could reach Eirin, her hands were on the doors to the Great Porch, and she swung them open.

Towering before her, still some distance away, was a giant, time-worn red dragon. The beast looked across the space to Eirin. She stood slack-jawed, hands still grasping the door handles.

Odahviing turned his head so that one giant eye could examine the woman better.

Fjornir watched in horror, convinced the dragon would burn her alive. Haming forgot Eirin's orders and stood next to Fjornir, watching the scene in silence.

The dragon let out what sounded like a huffing sigh. “ _Dovahkiin!”_ The dragon's words were spoken slowly. “You did not tell me you had a mate. _Rek_ _los_ _m_ _ul._ _Bahlaan._ ” Odahviing turned his head so that his other eye peered at the woman. “ _Ahrk ziihel aavaan...._ She carries _Dovahkiir!_ ” The dragon's laughter terrified Eirin, and she shut the doors.

From behind the doors, Odahviing's laughter continued. “ _Aal faal m_ _orokei ziisedov lahney mahfaeraak_ _!_ _"_


	9. Sovngarde

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Dragonborn leaves for Sovngarde.

Eirin stared at Fjornir, who still sat on the floor of the war room in Dragonsreach. Haming and two guards stood beside him. Haming's mouth hung open in shock.

The Healer leaned her back against the doors to the Great Porch. “What did he mean, Fjornir? How did he know I was your wife? What did he say I carried!?”

Fjornir stared back at Eirin, his head moving slowly side to side. He wasn't fully certain....

Eirin looked down at her husband's feet; she had yet to Heal them. She walked toward Fjornir, knelt before his feet and laid her hands on his ankles. She Healed his lower legs as much as she could before she began to feel dizzy. “Haming, the salve,” she said.

The boy walked over with the jar of the foul-smelling stuff. Eirin wiped it over her husband's still-red shins, ankles and feet. Haming handed her a rag for her hands. She took clean linens from her knapsack and wrapped Fjornir's lower legs. She frowned at him. “We need to get you into a bed,” she said.

“There's the guest room, just up the stairs,” said a guard with a thick northern accent. He looked down to Fjornir. “We'll help you there, Dragonborn.”

Fjornir nodded. The guards each took one of Fjornir's arms and helped him stand. Haming trailed behind them, and Eirin behind the boy. Fjornir took slow, painful steps, alleviated only slightly by the help of the guards.

Once in the large bed, Fjornir moaned with relief. Haming crawled up beside him and hugged his neck. Fjornir's arm wrapped around the boy, his bandaged hand avoiding any contact.

Eirin handed Fjornir more water and drank some herself. “Do you have any other injuries?” she asked her husband.

“No,” he said. His voice was rough.

“Why didn't you kill the dragon?” Haming asked.

“I need his help,” said Fjornir.

“What?” Eirin and Haming said simultaneously.

Fjornir looked at his wife. He reached out a hand toward her, and she curled up against his other side. The Dragonborn sighed deeply. “I have to go to Sovngarde,” he said.

Eirin turned to her side and looked at Fjornir. Her mouth was open in shock.

Fjornir closed his eyes. He told his family about what Odahviing knew about Alduin, what he was doing in Sovngarde, and told Haming how Alduin was the dragon that destroyed Helgen and killed his parents. He explained that in order to find Alduin and kill him, Fjornir had to release Odahviing and ride the dragon to a faraway land which held a portal to Sovngarde.

“But,” Eirin said, “Sovngarde. You have to _die?_ ”

Fjornir kissed her forehead. “Thankfully, no,” he said. He explained about the portal, and that he would enter and leave Sovngarde fully alive. Eirin's fingernails dug into Fjornir's upper arm. Fjornir looked at his wife. “I have decided not to go until our child is born,” he said.

Eirin stared at her husband. “But... why wait so long? I'm not due for another three months. How many more souls will Alduin devour in that time!?”

“I have no way of knowing how long I will be gone. I don't want to leave you here alone when our child comes. I have to wait until these burns are healed, anyway.”

“You will be able to walk in a few days with my help, _Bear.”_ Her look turned stern and serious, and her voice became low. “You should go. As soon as you can. Then you will be back, as soon as you can.”

Fjornir frowned, then looked at Haming. “What do you think?”

Haming swallowed, then said in a harsh whisper, “You need to _kill_ _him_ _._ ” The boy was angry. Vengeful. He would kill Alduin himself if he could.

Fjornir smiled sweetly at the boy. The Dragonborn looked to his wife. “Two against one,” he sighed. “I will leave as soon as I can walk. And wield a weapon.”

Eirin smiled, then frowned, and kissed Fjornir. “You shouldn't worry so much about me. I have Haming the Hunter to protect me while you're away.” She smiled at the boy. Eirin recalled the dragon's words to her moments ago. “Fjornir, what did that dragon say about me?” she asked again.

“I didn't understand everything,” he said, “ _Dovahkiin_ is the dragon's word for Dragonborn. That is what the dragons call me. I understood only two words that Odahviing said about you: _bahlaan_ and _Dovahkiir_. He said you were worthy – of what, I'm not sure.”

“Of you,” said Haming, looking up at Fjornir. He and Eirin looked at the boy. “He knew Eirin was your wife. He meant she was worthy of you, the Dragonborn.”

Fjornir smiled at the boy. “Perhaps he meant I was worthy of _her_ ,” he winked at Haming, and the boy giggled.

Eirin smirked. “But what did he say about our child? What am I carrying?”

“Dragonchild,” Fjornir said softly. “You carry the Dragonchild. I don't know what that means, except that it has something to do with me.” He longed to hold her hand, but his bandaged, sore flesh stopped him. “I suppose I could ask him, when I can walk again.”

Eirin frowned. She stood, then leaned forward and held her hands out to Fjornir's feet. He felt her Healing warmth through the bandages. She felt weak again, and stopped. “I can't anymore today. I have to rest.”

Fjornir reached out his arm to her. Eirin once more curled up against her husband, and rested her head on his lap.

\--

Four days later, Fjornir was able to put his full, heavy weight on his feet. He walked over to the dresser in the guestroom and inspected his repaired armor: new leather for the gauntlets and boots. His shield was replaced. Fjornir was pleased with Eorlund's work.

When Fjornir was dressed from head-to-toe in his steel armor, he walked down from the guestroom and to the war room. He opened the doors to the Great Porch to see a sleeping Odahviing.

“Odahviing,” the Dragonborn said.

The old dragon woke. Black smoke was snorted from his nostrils. “ _Dovahkiin._ You are healed. _Hin kopraan lost agaan. Krosis._ ”

Fjornir grunted. “Apology accepted.”

The dragon focused an eye on the Dragonborn. “You have reconsidered my offer, hmm? _Onikaan kron?_ You will release me – _ro laon –_ if in return I promise to take you to Skuldafn and stop helping Alduin? _”_

“I'm still wondering if I can trust you, Odahviing,” said Fjornir.

“ _Geh. Ov. Zu'u mahfaeraak mid wah faal_ _Dovahkiir_. Iwill be loyal to the _Lafaanne—_ the parents. This you can trust.” The dragon's nostrils blew black smoke again.

Fjornir considered his words. “What is my child? What is the _Dovahkiir?”_

Odahviing turned his head and focused his other eye on Fjornir. “You are not ready, _Dovahkiin.”_

Fjornir became annoyed. “Ready? Ready for what!?”

“ _Ek dez kosaan prodah_ _._ They will call to you, when it is time.”

The Dragonborn stepped closer to the dragon's eye. It was as big as the man's head. “Do you want to be released or not, dragon?”

Odahviing laughed. _“_ _Yan Dovahkiin Alduin? You need me.”_

Fjornir's muscles flexed. “Tomorrow,” he said and left the Great Porch, slamming the doors behind him.

–

Back at their home, Fjornir wrapped his arms around Eirin. He told her what Odahviing said about their child, though he did not understand much. “I will leave in the morning,” he said in a low voice. Eirin was crying softly.

A little while later, Fjornir spoke again. “ _Dyra,_ should anything happen to me....”

“Don't, Fjornir, I can't....” More tears fell.

“I have to,” he said. He held Eirin's head to his shoulder. “Should I not return.... Take care of yourself, of our children. You will have this house, the gold... all of it. And... please, promise me...,” he kissed her forehead, “that you will live your life, find happiness again, if I die.”

Eirin's fingers dug into her husband's upper arms. Her body shook in sobs.

Fjornir lifted Eirin's chin and gazed upon her face, then leaned forward and kissed her. Continuing their embrace, Fjornir lifted Eirin onto their bed, and laid her down. Eirin's hands drifted down Fjornir's bare chest, stopped at his loincloth, and untucked the fabric. Fjornir removed Eirin's underwear, turned her to her side, and found the cleft between her legs with his hand. Fjornir pressed himself against Eirin. Slowly, very slowly, he entered her from behind, both laying on their sides. Fjornir's hand grasped Eirin's hip. Their legs intertwined. Eirin felt the warmth of Fjornir's chest on her back, and the caress of his lips on her neck. Fjornir moved his hand to Eirin's fuller breasts, then down again, lower, down to the Eirin's center. Their bodies rocked back and forth until their pleasure culminated in ecstasy.

–

Eirin's body jerked into a seated position on her bed. In her dream, she had given birth to a dragon, and it tore her body in half. Her hand moved to her swollen abdomen to make sure she was still in one piece. She looked to her side – an empty space.

“Fjornir?” she called to him. No answer. She rose from bed and threw on a dress. The hallway was empty, and she moved quickly down the stairs. She looked around, calling out louder. “Fjornir?”

“He left,” Haming's voice came from his room in the back of the house. He walked out into the main room, yawning. “He said goodbye to me. He was wearing his armor. Then he left.”

Eirin had to grasp the stairs to catch herself. Haming ran to her aid. “He left,” she repeated Haming.

Haming wrapped his arms around Eirin and hugged her. “Don't worry, he'll be back. I know he will.”

Eirin wanted badly to believe the boy.

\--

Fjornir blinked. The portal to Sovngarde was bright, too bright, and the light stung his eyes. He looked up and saw a sun, or a star, surrounded by a swirling purple light. He had to look away. Everything was too bright. He sat down and held his hands over his eyes, resting his vision as well as his aching muscles. When his eyes ceased to ache, he looked out again. In the distance he saw a forested land covered in a thick mist. Leading the way there was a series of massive stone steps.

The Dragonborn inspected his weapons. Many arrows yet remained in his quiver. His warhammer held strong. His new shield clung to his back, unused. He inspected his wounds. Bruised fingers. His steel armor had defended against the rest of the blows. His left shoulder ached, however. He moved it around, loosening the overly-tightened muscle. He cracked his neck. Grunting, he stood, and replaced his horned helmet.

He descended the stone steps. Before him he saw a path, intermittently paved with large stones. The mist before him was as thick as a cloud. As Fjornir entered the mist, he could barely see past an arm's length ahead of himself. He walked forward cautiously. Ahead, he saw a tall brazier shining with fire. To the left of the brazier, sitting on a boulder with his legs dangling over the edge, he saw the figure of a man. The figure looked oddly familiar. He recognized the Stormcloak uniform immediately, but there was something else about the man. Fjornir walked closer. The man's head was hung low. He was staring at flowers he held in one hand as his other plucked petals. Fjornir heard the man speak. “She loves me,” he plucked a petal. “She loves me not,” he plucked another. Again, he repeated the words and motions. Fjornir was two arm-lengths away from the man's side when he finally recognized him.

Fjornir quietly spoke the man's name.

“Ralof?”


	10. Stolen Soul, Sleepless Dream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ralof has a decision to make.
> 
> [Chapter title inspired by “My Blood” by Ellie Goulding]

“Fjornir?” Ralof's face lit up in a smile. “Ah, it's good to see you again!” He slid down from the boulder and landed on his feet before the Dragonborn. “I hadn't heard that you died, but, here you are!”

Ralof's reaction confused Fjornir, considering he was the last person Ralof would be happy to see, especially these last six months. “Ralof, what are you doing here?” Fjornir asked.

Ralof smiled. “I'm dead, as you are, brother!” Ralof cheerfully gave Fjornir's shoulder a friendly smack, but his hand lingered on Fjornir's armor. The blonde man's brow furrowed in confusion as he looked into the Dragonborn's eyes. “You're... alive?”

“Yes,” Fjornir confirmed. “As are _you_ , Ralof.”

“What?” Ralof laughed. “No I'm not. Watch!” He began to vanish and reappear in various parts of the path and nearby meadow. “This is how the quick can avoid the dragon.” He frowned. “I've seen several of my fallen comrade's souls be taken because they were not watching the skies. We were always told Sovngarde would be peaceful... but that damned dragon threatens us all.”

Fjornir's muscles tensed. “Ralof, you're not dead. I saw you just a few months ago in Riverwood.”

Ralof looked confused. “No, I was killed by that dragon at Fort Hraggstad.”  
  
“No, Ralof,” Fjornir stepped closer to the specter. “Your heart stopped beating, but Eirin saved you. She brought you back to life.”

“She tried to save me. I watched her, from the in-between. She was wonderful....” Ralof's expression was a mix of sadness and pride. He smiled at the flowers he still held in his hand. “I felt her hit my body, right before my soul was taken to Sovngarde.”

“Ralof,” Fjornir spoke quietly, “you walked out of that tent alive. We took you home to Riverwood when the war was over.”

Ralof just shook his head.

The Dragonborn thought of a way, any way that he could convince Ralof that he did indeed live that day. “When I saw you in Riverwood, you were talking with Brynja, a Stormcloak officer, your friend. She was dressed in hide clothing and had her hair up in a short braid. You looked happy. I was traveling with Delphine at the time and had no time to say hello to you.... Not that it would have mattered, as you had lost your memory and did not remember me.” Fjornir laughed. “Which, to be honest, may have been a good thing, for me, anyway.”  
  
“I lost my memory?” Ralof asked.

Fjornir nodded. “When Eirin brought you back to life, you did not know who she was. You did not know who your sister was – not even your own name. Gerdur has been taking care of you ever since.”

“Fjornir, I'm here. I can't possibly be alive,” Ralof declared.

Fjornir sighed. “Listen, I have to go to the Hall of Valor. Do you know where it is?”

“Of course,” Ralof answered. “Follow me.” Ralof began walking down the path. The roar of Alduin sounded somewhere in the distance, but the men did not see him. “Keep an eye on the sky, brother,” Ralof whispered. “Once you see his eye through the mist, it's too late.”

Ralof's path lead Fjornir to a hill from where he saw the enormous Hall of Valor. Around the Hall, the sky appeared to be sparkling in a soft rain of stars. A bridge of enormous bones lead to the Hall, and before the bridge stood an enormous man. As the pair approached, the enormous man walked up to Fjornir.

The man's voice boomed. “What brings you, wayfarer grim, to wander here, in Sovngarde, souls-end, Shor's gift to honored dead?"

“I pursue Alduin, the World Eater,” Fjornir responded.

"A fateful errand,” the man spoke. “No few have chafed to face the Worm since first he set his soul-snare here at Sovngarde's threshold. But Shor restrained our wrathful onslaught - perhaps, deep counselled, your doom he foresaw."

Fjornir scowled. “Who are you?” he asked.

"I am Tsun, shield-thane to Shor. The Whalebone Bridge he bade me guard and winnow all those souls whose heroic end sent them here, to Shor's lofty hall where welcome, well earned, awaits those I judge fit to join that fellowship of honor.” Tsun bent forward. “Who are _you?_ No shade are you, as usually here passes, but living, you dare the land of the dead. By what right do you request entry?"

“By the right of birth. I am Dragonborn.”

"Ah!” Tsun's laughter vibrated the air around him. “It's been too long since last I faced a doom-driven hero of the dragon blood."

“Can I enter the Hall of Valor?” Fjornir asked.

Tsun's arms crossed in front of his chest. “Living or dead, by decree of Shor, none may pass this perilous bridge 'till I judge them worthy by the warrior's test." Tsun then gripped his battleaxe from behind his shoulder and unsheathed the massive weapon. The blade was as big as Fjornir's chest.

Fjornir readied his warhammer. As Tsun advanced, Fjornir took a deep breath, and Shouted: “ _FUS... RO DAH.”_ Tsun fell back to where he began his advance, shook his head, and came at Fjornir again. His massive axe came down toward the Dragonborn, but Fjornir spun away and the blade landed in the earth. Fjornir lifted his warhammer and landed a blow at the back of Tsun's left knee. The god-man cried out – not in pain, but surprise. In another swift move, Fjornir's warhammer came down on the middle of Tsun's back, causing the god-man's body to fall flat against the ground.

Tsun began to laugh heartily. He slowly rose to his feet, leaving his battleaxe embedded in the earth. “You fought well, Dragonborn. I find you worthy.” He smiled, then retrieved his axe and sheathed it. He began to walk back to his post. “It is long since one of the living has entered here. May Shor's favor follow you and your errand.”

“Thank you, Tsun, shield-thane to Shor,” Fjornir said. He turned to Ralof and motioned for him to follow.

“No!” Tsun shouted and turned. “Not this one.” The god-man scowled at Ralof.

“He's with me,” Fjornir said.

“The shade cannot pass,” Tsun said.

“Shade?” asked Ralof.

“The soul is incomplete,” the god-man said.

“What do you mean?” Fjornir asked. He thought that Tsun may know what had happened to Ralof's soul.

“The soul is split between Aetherius and Mundus,” the god-man answered.

Fjornir turned to Ralof. “ _Now_ do you believe me?”

The reality of his situation finally hit Ralof. He appeared terrified. “What happened?” he asked.

Tsun answered. “Sovngarde called and your soul accepted, but the love of another strongly pulled. The breath of life yet enters your lungs, but the very core of you no longer lives.”

"My body lives without a soul!?..." Ralof looked at Fjornir, then turned to Tsun. "What do I do?"

 

Tsun looked down to Ralof. He had given this speech many times before to countless other shades. “The shade must choose between bliss and trial, Aetherius or Tamriel. To choose one is to die in the other. Choose wisely, shade. In death you found tranquility from a life that brought you misery. Should you leave Sovngarde for the living plane, you will not return again. Your bones will bleach and flesh will flee; your soul will be rendered unto the Dreamsleeve.”

–

Brynja slept with her head on Ralof's chest and arm wrapped around his torso. A jerking movement and a groan woke her. From the rising sunlight shining through the windows, she could see that Ralof was dreaming. She cupped his cheek with her hand and whispered his name.

He did not respond. His dream continued, and became more violent. When his arm swung as if wielding a weapon, Brynja jumped out of bed. “Ralof!” she shouted. Still, the man dreamed. After another swinging movement of his right arm, he calmed.

“Ralof?” Brynja spoke again. She began to worry. She watched as Ralof's fists clenched. Two fingers in his right hand pointed outward and curved in again. Pointed, then curved. His hand repeated the movement five times. His left hand remained clenched. Brynja saw the muscles of his chest ripple as if he truly wielded a weapon, perhaps fighting off some dream-demon.

Ralof's body relaxed. His fists opened and his fingers splayed out. Brynja stepped up to the bed. Again, she called his name, but Ralof still did not respond.

In a sudden and terrifying reaction to something in his dream, Ralof's back arched, his torso raised, and his lungs inhaled sharply, desperately. His eyes burst open wide. With all the strength a mortal man's lungs could spare, Ralof bolted upright, and screamed: “ _DRAAAGONNN!!!_ ”


	11. Nothing The Same

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Dragonborn battles Alduin.
> 
> [Feels and title inspired by a mix of Kanye West “Amazing”, Katie Herzig “Holding Us Back”, Within Temptation “Shot In The Dark” and “Iron”]

 Aetherius is an interesting plane. Once the souls of the dead arrived in the afterlife, whether they entered the Dreamsleeve or walked Sovngarde's green pastures, all of the negative aspects of their human lives faded from memory. Only the joys they've known remained.

In Sovngarde, Ralof remembered only the glorious moments of his battles, his friends, family, and lovers. In his mind, Eirin and he were still in love, and Ulfric had been a dear friend and lover while he was away from Eirin.

The Healer had tried to save Ralof from death, but she had been too late. This final act of love from Eirin caused Ralof's last thoughts to be of her in the in-between, and therefore these thoughts became his fondest memories in Sovngarde.

Ralof had sat in silence considering Tsun's words. He couldn't bear the thought of his body wandering around with half a soul and no memories. He thought of his sister, his friends, of Ulfric and Eirin... how the situation must be affecting them. Ralof decided if he had a second chance at living, he would take it. He knew the moment he found himself back in Skyrim, he would seek out Eirin and marry her.

Fjornir sat beside Ralof as he considered his options. Finally, Ralof looked up at the Dragonborn. “I'm glad that you came here, brother,” Ralof said. “I would never have known, otherwise.”

“I actually thought that this was the reason you lost your memories,” Fjornir said. “I do feel bad, thought, ruining your... ignorance of the situation. You were happy here.”

“You said I was happy in Riverwood, too,” Ralof added.

Fjornir softly grunted in acknowledgment. “Being with your family always made you happy. But remember what Tsun said, Ralof. If you leave Sovngarde, you won't come back. Your soul will be reborn as someone else.” Fjornir frowned, and looked down at the ground. “If you wanted, I would send the rest of your soul here.” The prospect made Fjornir feel morally conflicted.

Ralof looked over at Fjornir. “You would kill my body?” he asked.

Fjornir looked up again. “Only if that is what you wish.”

Ralof held his gaze with Fjornir. “I want to live,” he said. Fjornir's lips formed a sad smile. He wanted to convince Ralof to stay in Sovngarde, to not go back to a life that Fjornir knew was hard for him, but it wasn't Fjornir's decision to make.

Ralof stood and walked over to where Tsun stood. “I have decided.”

Tsun grunted. His arms remained crossed over his chest.

“Send me back to my body,” Ralof commanded.

“You are sure?” Tsun asked.

Ralof nodded.

Tsun gripped his massive battleaxe and settled it between him and Ralof. “Kneel,” he commanded.

Ralof knelt before the god-man, then looked over to Fjornir and smiled. “I shall see you back in Skyrim, Dragonborn.” Fjornir stood and watched.

Tsun's blade, forged in the depths of Aetherius, had two purposes: to prevent the unworthy from entering the Hall of Valor, sending them back from whence they came, and to send lost souls back to Mundus.

When the blade came down on Ralof's neck, it served the latter purpose.

Fjornir stared into the space before him where Ralof's specter had knelt. He sighed, then began to walk across the great bridge that led to the Hall of Valor.

* * *

Brynja watched in horror as Ralof screamed. When he stopped, he was panting. He looked around the bedroom. His eyes found Brynja. “Where is it!? Where is the dragon?” he asked her in a harsh, breathless voice.

Brynja walked toward the bed. “What dragon, Ralof?” she asked softly.

Ralof's gaze dropped to her naked body. His eyes narrowed and his brow furrowed. “Were you injured, too?” He looked around the room again. “Where... are we? What happened to the tent?”

“What? Ralof, we're home... in Riverwood,” she said. She stood at the edge of the bed and cupped his cheek with her palm.

He looked up at the woman and grasped her wrist. “B', what are you doing?” He stared down at her naked breasts. “Where is your uniform?” He suddenly became aware of his own nakedness. “Where is mine?” He leapt from the bed and stood. “Where is Eirin!?” He left the bedroom and walked around the rest of the small house.

And then, Brynja understood. “Oh, Talos, no...” she whispered to herself. “Ralof?” she called to him quietly, following him into the main room of the house. Ralof turned to her. He looked as though he was about to cry. Brynja walked up to him again and held his face between her hands. “Ralof, where do you think you are, right now?”

Ralof looked into his friend's eyes. “We're in Haafingar. I was injured by that dragon when it attacked the fort....” His brow creased.

Brynja slowly shook her head. “That was almost four months ago, Ralof,” she said, her palms still resting on the sides of Ralof's face. “You've been in Riverwood since then. This is your home.”

The man did not believe his friend. He ran out of the small house. Brynja went back to the bedroom and wrapped a bed sheet around her body, then ran after him. “Ralof!” she called.

Ralof stood outside the house, staring at his sister's mill and White River. His chest was heaving and his body sweating. The rising sunlight made his body glisten. Brynja placed her hand on his shoulder. This startled Ralof and he reeled around and caught her arm. His eyes were wide with terror and confusion.

“What is going on, Brynja?” His expression showed a fury that frightened the woman.

Brynja swallowed. His grasp on her arm was painfully tight. She wrapped her hand around his. “Come back inside your house, and I will tell you,” she said.

* * *

 

Fjornir the Dragonborn and three heroes of Sovngarde, Gormlaith Golden-Hilt, Hakon One-Eye, and Felldir the Old, stormed from the Hall of Valor, weapons raised.

They called forth the Shout of _Clear Skies_ to rid the meadows of Alduin's deadly mist. As one, the four Shouted: _“LOK... VAH KOOR”_.

But the clearing was temporary, and Alduin sent forth his mist again. “ _VEN... MUL... RIIK...”_

Felldir shouted, “Again, as one! The World-Eater fears us!”

Again, the four Shouted to clear the mist, and yet again Alduin fogged the land.

“Does his strength have no end?” Hakon asked. “Is our struggle in vain?”

Gormlaith noticed this new mist was less dense. “Stand fast!” she shouted. “His strength is failing! Once more, and his might will be broken!”

Felldir shouted at Fjornir, “His power crumbles – do not pause for breath!”

Once more, the four Shouted _Clear Skies._

Alduin's roar neared. The ground shook and balls of fire fell from the sky. Fjornir spotted the beast, and readied himself to use _Dragonrend._ As Alduin swerved lower, closer, Fjornir Shouted: “ _JOOR... ZAH FRUL.”_

A blue light flew through the air and surrounded Alduin's dark body, but he still soared. The dragon shouted at the four, “ _Pahlok joorre! Hin kah fen kos bonaar.”_ But then, a roar, weaker than before, sounded from Alduin's jowls and he helplessly flapped his wings as the Shout pulled his body to the ground.

Fjornir and the three heroes charged the dragon. Fjornir wielded Dragonbane, the sword given to him by Delphine and the Blades, and his new Skyforged shield protected him. Swords and blades hacked at Alduin's scaled body. Dragonbane slashed deeper into the dragon's protected flesh, cutting into Alduin's limbs.

Again, Fjornir Shouted _Dragonrend._ Alduin remained chained to the ground by the Shout. Fjornir avoided the dragon's jaws and tail, slashing at limbs as he ran around the dragon with the others. Alduin faltered, and the Dragonborn saw his chance. Fjornir leapt upon the back of the beast, lifted Dragonbane high above his head, and plunged the blade deep into the dragon's neck. Alduin fell to the ground and thunder clapped above. Fjornir retrieved the blade and slid from the dragon's back. The four stepped away from the beast.

With a final surge of fury, Alduin flexed his body and roared. Smoke puffed from his nostrils and a red, swirling light encased the dragon. Alduin began to writhe in pain. “ _Zu'u unslaad! Zu'u nis_ _o_ _blaan!”_ he shouted. His black-scaled body glowed with the appearance of a giant ember. Fjornir and the heroes ran back, away from Alduin. Red-orange fire glowed from beneath the dragon's scales. Alduin looked as if he was breaking apart. The dragon began to shudder, and the red-orange glow became a white-hot blinding light. Alduin reared to his hind legs and belted a final roar as his body disintegrated into the ether. With an explosion that shook all of Sovngarde, the dragon's soul was no more.

The Dragonborn and the heroes had defeated Alduin the World-Eater.

Fjornir knelt to the ground with the hilt of Dragonbane gripped in his hands and the blade struck into the earth. The man was breathing hard, mostly from exhaustion, but partially in disbelief. He had succeeded. He had lived.

The four heroes of Sovngarde rejoiced. “All hail the Dragonborn! Hail him with great praise!” Tsun and other souls that wandered the green fields soon joined in the exaltation.

In a deep, quiet voice, Fjornir muttered a message to the spirit of Alduin, and the other _dovah_ who would threaten his world: _Faas faal Dovahkiin, waan ho ahlbrod zahreiksevulom, ho vokulle wo iidah fin sahlo. Zu vaat, ho nis iliis mahfaeraak nol faal Nil. Zu nir fah ho med sunvaarre, ahrk tef ho kotin faal Fruun._

* * *

Brynja helped Ralof into his linen clothes, then slipped on her own. She sat him down with a mug of water, and sipped some as well. She placed her mug onto the dining table and looked into Ralof's eyes. “You lost your memory, Ralof.”

The man looked at his friend. “From the dragon attack?” he asked.

Brynja frowned. “Yes, and no. You died, as a result of the dragon. Your body was badly beaten and you lost a lot of blood. Your heart had stopped, but Eirin saved you. I am told she shocked your heart with magic and started it again.”

Ralof did not react at first. “Eirin?” he finally asked. “Is she alright?”

“Yes, she's fine. Very well, I hear. Living with Fjornir in Whiterun.” She reached across the table and held Ralof's hand, not allowing him time to react to her last words. “Ralof, do you really remember nothing of the last four months?” Brynja felt her stomach flip.

He frowned. “No, B'. Nothing.” He suddenly realized that he had woken up, naked, in bed with his best friend. The look on his face worried the woman. “Brynja, why were we here together? Where is Silda?”

Brynja's jaw dropped at the sound of her ex-lover's name. Her stomach twisted into a tumbling ball of nerves and she began to retch. She ran from the house, burst into the daylight and vomited up water.

* * *

Fjornir stared up at the sky. Bright blue, fluffy white clouds - the sky of Tamriel. His body was unable to move. Every muscle screamed. A roar sounded in the sky, and then another. Fjornir heard dragonspeak voiced by many at once: “ _Alduin mahlaan.”_ A single dragon spoke. _“Sahrot thur qahnaraan.”_ Fjornir looked around the sky. It was full of dragons, none of which attacked him. The dragons spoke as one again: “ _Alduin mahlaan.”_

* * *

The ground shook beneath Eirin's feet. She saw people in the marketplace pointing toward the southeastern sky. Eirin lifted her eyes. In the distance, soaring through the bright blue sky, were enormous dark, winged figures. _Dragons!_ Eirin realized. A sudden fear gripped the people of Whiterun as well as Eirin. The Healer immediately thought that Fjornir had failed, that the dragons were gathering for an assault on Skyrim.

But the dragons remained to the southeast. Many vanished from the sky, landing on the tall, distant mountain. Several rose again, swerved around the mountaintop, then faded into the distance. Eirin saw one soar nearer and nearer, and the people around her screamed and ran. Eirin stood her ground, watching the dragon. As the beast flew in the direction of Whiterun and finally soared over the town, it roared – _No_ , Eirin realized, _it spoke –_ but flew onwards to the northwest. Eirin watched the beast fly away, disappearing into the horizon. Eirin's fear dissipated. Instinct told her that Fjornir had succeeded.

* * *

Fjornir managed to sit. Paarthurnax perched at his usual place upon the Throat of the World, and several other dragons perched around the mountaintop. Another dragon spoke: “ _Dovahkiin los ok dovahkriid.”_ Their voices boomed stronger: “ _Alduin mahlaan.”_ Fjornir realized that the dragons were acknowledging him, the _Dovahkiin._ Dragonborn. Dragonslayer.

A third dragon raised his voice: “ _Thu'umii los nahlot._ ” Many flew away with a roar. A final time they belted: “ _Alduin mahlaan._ ”

Fjornir finally stood, and approached Paarthurnax, one of the few dragons that had helped him in his quest. The ancient dragon spoke. “So, it is done. _Alduin dilon._ The Eldest is no more, he who came before all others, and has always been.”

Fjornir shouted over the chorus of roars. “You don't sound very happy about it!”

Paarthurnax responded. “Happy? No, I am not happy. _Zeymahi lost ont du'ul Bormahu._ Alduin was once the crown of our father Akatosh's creation. You did what was necessary. Alduin had flown far from the path of right action in his _pahlok_ – the arrogance of his power. But I cannot celebrate his fall. _Zu'u tiiraaz ahst ok mah_. He was my brother once. This world will never be the same.”

Fjornir retorted, “The world is a better place without Alduin!”

“I am glad you believe that,” Paarthurnax said. “At least it will continue to exist. _Grik los lein._ Even I cannot see past Time's ending to what comes next. _Niid koraav zeim sinoksetiid._ We must do the best we can with this world. But I forget myself. _Krosis._ _So los mid fahdon._ Melancholy is an easy trap for a _dovah_ to fall into. You have won a mighty victory. _Sahrot krongrah –_ one that will echo through all the ages of this world for those who have eyes to see. Savor your triumph, _Dovahkiin_. This is not the last of what you will write upon the currents of Time. _”_ The dragon lifted his body into the air and soared above Fjornir. “ _Goraan!_ I feel younger than I have in many an age!” he shouted. “Many of the _dovahhe_ are now scattered across Keizaal. Without Alduin's lordship, they may yet bow to the _vahzen_... rightness of my _Thu'um!_ But willing or no, they will hear it! Fare thee well, _Dovahkiin!_ ”

As Paarthurnax soared off into the horizon, Fjornir felt the earth quake beneath him. He turned to find Odahviing standing before him. The dragon laughed. “ _Pruzah wundunne wah Wuth Gein._ I wish the old one luck in his... quest. As for myself, you've proven your mastery twice over. _Thuri, Dovahkiin._ I gladly acknowledge the power of your _Thu'um,_ as well as your your status as _bormah_ _wah faal Dovahkiir_.” The dragon lifted off the ground, then shouted down at Fjornir. “ _Zu'u Odahviing!_ Call me when you have need, and I will come, if I can!”

Fjornir shouted after him. “What about my child!? Tell me about my child!”

Odahviing shouted back. _“_ _Losni tiid!”_

* * *

Gerdur saw Brynja vomitting and came over to her. “Are you alright, Brynja?” Gerdur rubbed the woman's back. Ralof walked up behind her to the doorway.

“Yes, Gerdur, thank you. It's just morning sickness.” Brynja knew her words were only half-true.

“Morning sickness?” Ralof asked. “B', you're... with child?”

Gerdur looked up at her brother. He hadn't called Brynja by his nickname for her since... “Ralof?” She stood up and grasped his shoulders. “Ralof, you remember!?”

“Yes, sister,” he removed her hands from his shoulders. “I remember.”

Gerdur ignored her brother's foul mood and wrapped her arms around him. “Thank Talos,” she whispered.

“Gerdur, please,” Ralof grunted. “What is going on? What house is this?” Brynja felt another wave of retching build and she ran to the side of the house. “And how in Tamriel did Brynja get herself pregnant?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translation of the Dovahkiin's warning: 
> 
> Fear the Dragonborn, if you possess a heart of darkness, you evil ones who attack the weak. I swear, you cannot hide forever from the Void. I will hunt for you like beasts, and pull you into the Abyss.


	12. Take Me Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ralof remembers.
> 
> [Title and feels inspired by Perfume Genius “Take Me Home” and “Hood”, and Brynja’s song lyrics inspired by Neko Case “I Wish I Was the Moon”]

Ralof spun the bone bead against his wrist. The time-worn engraved rune disappeared and reappeared again. Gerdur sat in uncomfortable silence across the dining table from the man. She had just explained to Ralof about his relationship with Brynja, about the house that they lived in, and why he wore his betrothal gift to Eirin around his wrist. She related that Eirin had not been wearing the necklace Ralof had given her upon arriving in Riverwood, and that Eirin told Gerdur to give the bead to Ralof in the hopes that it would bring back some memories.

“She has moved on, Ralof,” Gerdur continued. “That part of your life, your life with Eirin, it ended when she left for Markarth all those years ago.”  
  
Brynja's stomach settled and she had washed her mouth with the river water. When she returned to her home, she heard Gerdur speaking, and remained outside the open front door, listening.

“Eirin still wore the necklace when I saw her in Windhelm, Gerdur,” Ralof said. His voice had an air of defiance. “She clutched it, the bead, crying...” Tears formed in his own eyes at the memory of that night in the palace. “She regretted everything, leaving Helgen. Leaving me.... She had a horrible marriage.” Ralof's expression turned hard as he recalled how her husband had treated her. He considered hurting Vorstag himself. “I was so angry with her, when I saw her then. But I could see it... the hurt in her eyes. I yelled at her.... All the things I wanted to say to her all those years....” Ralof leaned his elbows on the table and planted his face into his palms. He groaned. “Had I not yelled at her, had showed her then that I still loved her.... I keep thinking, then, Eirin would have never married Fjornir.”

Brynja felt an invisible hand grab at her throat. Deep down, she knew Ralof still had feelings for his first love, but hearing him admit to it was a difficult reality to bear.

“I'm told Eirin met Fjornir before your reunion with her, Ralof.” Gerdur reached across the table and caressed her brother's forearm. “I saw them, how they were with each other, when they passed through on their way to Whiterun. They were in love.... They married one month after the war ended. We had received an invitation to go to Riften... but I felt it was not appropriate for us to go.”

Ralof looked across the table at his sister. In a voice barely more than a whisper, Ralof lamented, “But she was my wife....” Ralof began to sob quietly. He crossed his arms onto the table and laid his head down.

Brynja wrapped her arms around her waist and walked away. She, too, was crying.

Gerdur slowly shook her head from side to side. “No, Ralof. You were barely more than children, then. People grow, they change and move on.... She was your first love. I understand that, I do. But you've lived too long yearning for someone who is no longer in your life. I know you don't remember these last few months, but what I've told you is the truth. You and Brynja fell in love – something I had always thought... hoped, honestly... would happen.” Ralof slowly sat up straight and wiped clean his face. Gerdur continued. “And now you will have a child together. You two have been best friends for ten years.... Sometimes the strongest loves form out of the strongest friendships. You had that with Eirin, but _Eirin_ is out of your life. Brynja is very much a part of your life, now.” Gerdur leaned forward and held Ralof's blonde-stubbled lower cheek in her palm. “For her sake, for the sake of your child, I _beg_ you, Ralof, put Eirin out of your mind. Move on. Just... _be..._ with Brynja. You love her as a friend – let that once again blossom into something more.”

–

Fjornir had started walking down the mountain path that led to High Hrothgar, but realized the journey by foot down to Ivarstead, and then to Whiterun, would take several days, at least. He knew no other way to get to Whiterun by foot, but recalled the new Shout he'd learned not long ago. The Shout took considerably more energy than others and caused him to tire easily, so he rarely used it, particularly in battle. But he wanted to be home, as soon as possible. He _needed_ to be home.

The Dragonborn walked to the north and west, and saw a steep peak leading down to a rocky outcrop part-way down the mountain. He braced himself to use the Shout _Become Ethereal._ With a deep breath, he Shouted, “ _FEIM... ZII GRON.”_ Fjornir looked down at his own hands. They were a translucent blue, as was the rest of his body. He counted until the effect wore off, and concluded that he could make the first jump easily. He Shouted again, then immediately jumped to the rock ledge beneath him. He landed with a thud, but felt nothing in his body. The effect wore off again. He judged the next distance to be too far to Shout before leaping, and decided to do it mid-air.

He sent a silent prayer to Talos to not let him die. He looked out to the northwest and saw the town of Whiterun. He imagined Eirin working in Arcadia's shop with Haming helping her. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, then looked down again. He leapt from the rock ledge, and mid-way down, Shouted, “ _FEIM... ZII GRON.”_ Again his body turned a translucent blue. He landed with a louder thud onto the grassy mountain foothills. A moment after landing, the effect faded.

Fjornir thanked Talos, and made his way home.

–

Brynja sat on the western watchman's platform with her feet dangling off the side. Her arms lay across the rope barrier and her chin rested on her hands. Her thoughts were on her time years ago with Ralof, training, up in Hjaalmarch. She ignored the guards as they walked behind her and spoke to her. She looked down at the road and watched her bare feet gently kick the air beneath her.

She began to sing quietly to herself. She could never carry a tune very well, but she sang anyway, when nothing else existed to comfort her. She sang her favorite comforting tune – the same one she had sung to herself when countless lovers had left her.

“Stars fall and lovers fade

I thought that I was brave

My bleeding hands, your frozen heart

If only I were as numb

 

I am weary

As lonesome as the moon tonight...”

She did not notice when Ralof stepped behind her and leaned on a wooden post on the watchman's platform, listening.

“Shor blesses me, I'm a free woman

Any place, I can go

But I'm frozen here, chained to the ground

No tonics for my fear

 

I am broken

As lonesome as the moon tonight

 

Stars fall and lovers fade

I thought that I was brave

My bleeding hands, your frozen heart

If only I were as numb

 

I am weary

As lonesome as the moon tonight...”

“You never could carry a tune,” Ralof said.

He startled Brynja. Her body jumped and she looked behind her. “ _Gods,_ Ralof...,” she turned back to look west. “For such a large man you tread as lightly as a chicken.”

“Just don't start calling me 'Cocky',” he joked.

Brynja turned back to him again and smirked. “You couldn't be cocky if you tried,” she retorted.

Ralof smiled, then asked, “How much did you hear?”

She frowned. “Enough,” she replied, then turned back around to face the western horizon.

Ralof sat down beside her, his own legs dangling over the platform. “Even the part where I agreed with Gerdur?”

“No,” Brynja said. “Agreed with what?” She watched her feet kick the air again.

The man sighed. “Everything,” he said.

Their legs slowly kicked the air in silence for a while.

“Were you singing about me?” Ralof asked.

“No,” Brynja lied. “I mean, yes, but... It's an old song....”

“Do you sing it often?”

Their legs kicked in sync now.

“I guess,” she replied.

Ralof frowned. “Did Silda leave you?”

“Yes.”

Kick. Kick. Kick.

“Gerdur said you came here a week or so after the war ended. Where did Silda go?” Ralof asked.

“She didn't say. She wrote me a note, but... she just... left.” Brynja blinked away the tears that began to form.

“I'm sorry,” he said.

Brynja shrugged.

“So... when did you and I... um...”

“The night I came to Riverwood,” Brynja answered the question Ralof couldn't ask.

“But we had never--”

“I know,” she interjected. “And I told you that, too. But it just... happened.”

“I wish I could remember,” Ralof said. His voice was low, quiet.

Kick. Kick. Kick.

–

Fjornir entered the gates to Whiterun as the sun was at its zenith. He was sore, exhausted, and extremely hungry. He opened the door to his home. Standing at the cooking pot was a very pregnant Eirin with her long hair tied back in her signature braid. She looked up from the pot. Fjornir shut the door behind him and removed his helmet.

Eirin let the large cooking spoon sink into the pot and she ran to her husband. Her belly pressed against his steel armor as their arms wrapped around one another and their lips clung together.

Haming came running and hugged Fjornir's waist. “You did it! I knew you would! We saw the dragons!”

Fjornir's lips curved into a smile while kissing Eirin. They both chuckled. The Dragonborn knelt down to embrace the boy. “You saw dragons, hmm?”  
  
“Yeah! Above the big mountain. The ground shook!” Haming's arms flared wide. “Everyone thought that the dragons would attack, but I knew better.” The boy snarled and his voice turned into a fierce, triumphant growl. “The ground shook because you killed him!”

Fjornir laughed. “You're right, it did,” he said. “He's gone. Alduin is gone.”

Haming hugged Fjornir again. “Thank you... father.”

Fjornir mussed the boy's hair and stood. He embraced his wife again.

Eirin looked up at Fjornir, smiling, and whispered. “You did it...,” and she kissed him yet again. “There were so many dragons.... One flew over Whiterun. We all thought it was coming to attack, at first, but... it just spoke as it flew northwest.”

“It spoke?” Fjornir asked. “Do you recall what it said?”

She nodded. “It sounded like... 'Hind fall mona.' Does that sound familiar?”

Fjornir thought a moment. “' _Heind faal monah'?”_ He spoke the _Dov_ language that sounded like the words Eirin said.

“Yes, that sounds right. Do know you what that means?”

The Dragonborn looked into Eirin's eyes. “Yes,” he said, “It means 'Hail the mother'.”

–

Ralof and Brynja now sat cross-legged, facing each other on the platform. Ralof asked the guards to take a break. Ralof fiddled with the cuff of his linen trousers.

“I'm sorry, about Eirin. It's the truth... I can't help how I feel....” Ralof spun the bone bead at his wrist. “I'm not sorry you heard it, though. You deserve to know the truth.”

Brynja remained silent.

“I do love you, you know. As I always have. The way _we_ always have.” Ralof awaited a response from Brynja that never came. “I can't force feeling more, but, if we fell in love before....” Brynja looked up at him, and Ralof returned her gaze.

“The night I realized...,” she began, her gaze dropping to her bare feet, “the same night that we were together... you asked me if in all the years I've known you, if you were ever truly happy.”

“I did?” he asked.

Brynja nodded. “You had begged me to tell you about Ulfric and Eirin, so I did. The information... upset you. So you asked me, and when I thought about it....” She looked into Ralof's eyes. “ _You_ tell _me_. In all the years I've known you.... were you ever truly happy?”

Ralof frowned. He thought about Eirin, and how ever since she left him he had been a complete wretch. And yet, Ulfric always made him happy. At least, when they were together. In secret. And then he recalled punching the Jarl in order to chase after Eirin. But Eirin was with the Dragonborn. She still is.

“No,” Ralof finally admitted. That was not the answer Brynja was looking for. She felt her breath stop. “Eirin left. I didn't want to live without her _._ And then, Ulfric.... Were he not Jarl, I think he and I might still be together. Except, if he were not Jarl, I may never have met him.”

“So, never happy, then....” Brynja frowned and looked to her feet again.

He gave a light assertive grunt. “Not in love, no. The Stormcloaks, training and battles and raiding...,” he laughed, “drinking contests.... Those times are what made me happy.”

“You always lose our drinking contests,” she said, flatly.

Ralof laughed. “Yes, but before I pass out, I have fun.” Brynja felt his hand begin to play with her long, straight blonde hair that hung loose over her shoulder. “I always had fun with you, B'.”

She looked up. She was unable to stop a rogue tear from streaming down her cheek.

Ralof's hand drifted to her cheek and wiped it away. “So,” he said, “let's have fun together.” He lowered his hand to hold both of Brynja's. “Forever, if you like.”

Brynja stared at the man for a moment, then removed her hands from his and looked away. “You're just saying that because you got me pregnant.”

“No, B'. You know that I love you. You've been my best friend for so long. We're just so... comfortable together.” His voice was deep. Brynja felt the feeling his in words.

She looked up again. “ _'At home'_ , with one another,” she said, repeating Ralof's words to her when he lacked his memory of her and their past.

Ralof nodded. “From day one,” he said.

Another rogue tear escaped Brynja's eye and she wiped it away.

“Look, I'm not saying we marry immediately. That would be fair to no one. But,” his fingers fidgeted against one another, “I'm saying we give this, us, a chance. For the baby, and for us, too. Deal?”

Brynja studied her friend. His hand extended in front of him, awaiting her to grasp his forearm, his eyes full of hope. Slowly, she extended her arm and gently grasped Ralof's just before the elbow. The embrace was somewhere between amiable and sensual, lacking the firmness of comrades but expressing the lightness and demurral of shy, tentative lovers.

Though Brynja longed for the feel of Ralof's lips against hers, she did not kiss him. Her lips shifted from a frown into a smile. “Deal,” she said.

–

The people of Whiterun celebrated that night in the Bannered Mare. Mikael learned a new song in honor of Fjornir. After the town toasted to the Dragonborn, Mikael dedicated the song to Fjornir, and he sang “The Dragonborn Comes”, as well as revised versions of “Tale of the Tongues” and his old standbys.

Fjornir ate and drank heartily. He and Eirin, as well as other couples, danced off and on. Even the Companions and Lydia joined the festivities. Farkas drank way too much, and left early to go to bed.

Vilkas, powered by mead and yearning, search for Lydia. He finally found her upstairs, sitting in a quiet corner, sipping from a bottle. He plopped next to her on the bench. “Still hate being his housecarl?” he asked.

Lydia turned to look at the man. “It'll probably get worse, now. In a few months, a screaming baby. And now that he's even more famous.... Visitors. All the time, _visitors_.” She grumbled.

“Just quit,” Vilkas said.

“Ha!,” she laughed. “And give up all the gold that comes with the job? No. I need the money.”

“I have money....” His gaze fell to his feet.

“What?” Lydia asked.

“I have money,” Vilkas repeated. “Quit. Marry me. You'll have plenty of money.”

She laughed, and snorted. “You're so drunk, Vilkas, you should hear yourself.”

The man frowned. “Mead only loosens the tongue enough to tell the truth.”

Lydia looked at Vilkas again. Her eyebrow raised.

Vilkas looked at her. His eyes filled with sadness and longing. Unable to hold back any longer, Vilkas lurched forward, grabbed Lydia's head with his hands and pulled her to him to receive his fierce kiss.

Lydia was surprised by the romantic assault, and in her shock she did not protest. A moment later, however, she pushed against Vilkas's chest, but he refused to let her go. Finally, Lydia was able to break free and her right hand rose to Vilkas's cheek in a back-handed smack.

“WHAT are you doing?” She stood. “I'm with Farkas!”

Vilkas stood as well. “ _Farkas_ does not love you like I do, Lydia.”

“What do you know!?” She turned to leave but Vilkas grabbed her arm and forced her to stand in front of him again.

“I know that a man who loves a woman does not so willingly share her! I feel _sick_ thinking about that night, Lydia. I didn't want you like that!” Vilkas's shouts were drowned out by the music and laughter downstairs.

“We've known each other for _years,_ and _now_ you tell me you want me!?” She tried to struggle from his grasp, but failed.

“I wanted to!” his voice grew harsh. “Every damned day.”

“It's too late, Vilkas.”

“It's never too late,” Vilkas grasped Lydia's arm tightly.

“Why _now,”_ she asked, feeling herself about to cry with confusion and drunkenness.

“I love you,” he said.

“No,” she protested.

“Yes,” Vilkas pulled her closer.

“You would never say that, if you truly knew me,” she looked away.

“I know you. I _have_ known you. I love _everything_ about you.”

“Stop, please,” she tried to pull away again, but was not allowed to do so.

“I would give _anything_ to be with you,” Vilkas said softly, bending forward so that his breath caressed Lydia's neck.

She began to cry. “Vilkas, I can't....”

His lips lightly kissed and sucked the slope of her neck. “What's stopping you?” he asked, his voice husky with lust.

Her body shuddered at the feel of his lips and her attempt to quiet a moan failed miserably.

Vilkas wrapped his arms tightly around her. His lips moved to her ear. “I need you,” he said.

Lydia's knees went weak. She had no more fight left within her and the mead had gone completely to her head. She gave in, and pressed her lips to his.

Vilkas lifted Lydia's body. Her legs wrapped around his waist, and he carried her into one of the inn's bedrooms.


	13. On a Moonlit Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Memories are an interesting thing...

_Vira was screaming at Grelod. The headmistress had caught the girl and Fjornir kissing. Fjornir hid, and listened. He was frightened of the headmistress, but was worried she would hurt his friend, so he stayed close by. Grelod forbade Vira from ever kissing any boys again so long as she lived at Honorhall. Vira threatened to run away. Fjornir heard a loud smack and then a slamming door._

_The young Fjornir was on the floor. He had slipped in something wet. Something dark. He stood and looked at his wet hands. Blood. He looked up at the sleeping Vira again. He finally saw it, the blood dripping from her bed. Fjornir held his breath. He walked closer. He hovered over Vira. Blood pooled around her neck. Her pale neck smiled at him. Her right hand grasped an old, rusty dagger. Blood stained the cuff of her favorite blue dress._

_Fjornir saw Aela's grey-blue eyes flash across his vision. Her moss-green warpaint gave her a frightening appearance. Even as a teenager, she was strong, and a highly-capable hunter. She was sixteen, teaching the slightly older Fjornir how to hunt. The young man watched his arrow pierce the lungs of a doe, sending forth a burst of blood._

_Aela, in her werewolf form, slit her wrist. Fjornir drank of her blood. He was then following Aela, both in beast form, hunting the wilds outside of Whiterun. After gorging on a goat, the two coupled as werewolves. Fjornir awoke, naked in human form, in a sunny field dotted by tundra cotton._

_Snow. Thick, heavy snow floated down from the sky. Aela's arrow entered the eye of an elk. Under the protection of a rock overhang, Fjornir gorged on the animal's liver while Aela roasted its meat, wrapped in garlic leaves, over a spitfire. She was twenty-one years old, and today was his twenty-third birthday. It was not really his birthday—it was the day he arrived at the orphanage. The liver was Aela's gift to Fjornir. She still denied him what he truly desired._

_Aela refused to speak. She refused to look at him. She felt the scar on her wrist left by the knife she used to give Fjornir her blood. He reached out to her. Aela slapped him across the face. She felt horrible. She cried. Fjornir hugged her. Aela did not want to be cured. Fjornir felt as if he were falling into the earth._

_Eirin. Eirin was pulling Fjornir out of his past. She held his hand. Fjornir transformed into a werewolf. Still running forward, pulling were-Fjornir with her, Eirin laughed happily. Fjornir heard an infant's giggling echo around him. The giggling continued as a dragon roared somewhere above him and Eirin. Fjornir then heard loud, wicked laughter as a wooden staff cracked against his knees, turning him human again._

Haming landed with a thud on top of the sleeping Fjornir. The boy's quiet voice slowly became audible. “Birthday,” Fjornir heard.

“What?” the Dragonborn asked as he yawned, wiping the sleep from his eyes.

“It's Eirin's birthday today!” Haming said in a shouting whisper. He jumped off of Fjornir to his side. Eirin had already risen and was in the basement, bathing.

Fjornir realized that he was either slightly hung over, or still exhausted from his journey to and from Sovngarde. He sat up and smiled at Haming. “Thank you, little man. I'd forgotten what day it was.”

“It's ok. You've been busy!” Haming smiled, and Fjornir chuckled.

“What should we do for Eirin, hmm?” Fjornir asked the boy.

“I'm going to make her a cake.”

“A cake?”

“Yeah!” the boy said quietly. “Saadia taught me. She said I can use her kitchen so Eirin can be surprised.”

“Well, that is a wonderful idea,” Fjornir said.

“Did you buy her a gift?” Haming asked.

Fjornir smiled, then leaned over to open the drawer of his night table. Tucked into a folded linen cloth was a gold ring embellished by a single glistening diamond. Fjornir handed the ring to Haming. “Look inside the band,” he said.

Haming turned the ring to inspect the inside curve. The symbols engraved by a delicate hand made no sense to the boy. Vertical, horizontal and diagonal lines were accented by a series of dots and shorter lines. “What does it mean?” he asked.

“ _Wah dii silliin,”_ Fjornir said and smiled.

“What?” Haming asked.

Fjornir's smile turned into a wide grin. “How would you like to learn a little Dragonspeak?”

–

_Lydia walked quietly down the hallway to the Dragonborn's bedroom. The dim indoor lighting aided her vision. Upon opening the door, she saw Fjornir splayed out on his stomach across the entirety of the large bed. His arms hugged a pillow below his head. The muscles of his bare backside occasionally flexed as the man dreamed._ Apparently the Dragonborn sleeps in the nude, _Lydia thought to herself._

_Fjornir had returned home late. Lydia had stayed awake waiting for her Thane, but had grown too tired and had gone to bed. She awoke some time during the night, however, and found herself hungry for something more than supper._

_The man's armor was strewn about the room. Lydia tip-toed around a maze of steel and leather until she reached the foot of the bed. She slowly, gently, crawled onto the bed. She straddled one of Fjornir's enormous thighs, each of her knees holding her body over the man. She slipped off her undershirt and removed the linen wrap that supported her ample breasts. The clothes landed silently to the side of the bed._

_Lydia could hear Fjornir's soft, evenly-spaced breathing and knew he was in a deep slumber. When her eyes adjusted to the dim candlelight of the bedroom, she could see the outline of Fjornir's genitalia against the white linen bedsheets._ Even asleep, the Dragonborn was supernaturally large _, Lydia thought, her mouth spreading in a wide grin. She wondered what Fjornir would do if she began to touch him, if he would wake immediately, attack her, throw her off the bed, or rather throw her onto the bed.... Curiosity and the prospect of retaliation from the Dragonborn got the best of Lydia._

_She lowered her mouth toward Fjornir's backside, and with her tongue traced the cleft between each round, muscular cheek, ending at the sensitive area just before Fjornir's large bulge. The man's muscles quivered instinctively, but Fjornir remained asleep. Lydia lowered her tongue and found the head of the man's shaft which pressed against the sheets toward his feet. She licked and sucked teasingly. In his sleep, Fjornir moaned. Lydia felt the blood begin to flow to the organ. Fjornir slightly shifted his lower legs. Lydia grabbed a hold of the man's thighs and pressed down as she sucked harder on Fjornir's manhood._

_Sleepily, Fjornir grunted a word that sounded similar to “What?” Lydia ignored him and continued pleasuring the man. Fjornir found the weight of his body and the position of his stiffening shaft growing uncomfortable and lifted himself with his arms. His manhood sprung forward toward his torso. He turned to look behind him. In the dim light, Lydia's eyes glowed the color of the twilight sky. Her pupils were large from adjusting to the darkness as well as from her growing desire. A half-smile crossed her face._

_Still half-asleep, Fjornir took a moment to realize what was happening. Lydia, his brand-new housecarl, was attempting to pleasure him in his sleep. The Dragonborn turned onto his back, grabbed a bedsheet and covered his body. “Lydia, what are you doing?” he asked._

“ _Isn't it obvious?” Her voice was smooth, deep, and lustful. She lowered herself to her hands and knees and crawled closer. “Or can the Dragonborn not recognize a desirous woman even when she's crawling on top of him?” Lydia pressed her lips against the Dragonborn's. Her breasts hung low and brushed against the man's own thick, muscular chest._

_Fjornir knew he should protest. He had just met Lydia one week ago. She was his employee. His guard. His housecarl. The inappropriateness was obvious to the man. He would have been blind, however, not to notice the woman's perfect body: young, tall, muscular, but full and round where it mattered. He felt Lydia's warm tongue caress his own, and felt his erection brush against the linen sheet above his waist._

_Despite his better judgment, Fjornir gave in to Lydia's advances. His hands wrapped around the back of her head and held her mouth to his. Lydia moved one hand to the sheet that covered Fjornir. She found a stiffness, and ran her hand up and down over the fabric. Fjornir groaned, then tugged at the fabric, setting himself free. Lydia shifted her knees to sit behind each side of Fjornir's hips and her breasts hung in front of the man's face. Fjornir licked, nipped and sucked at each of Lydia's nipples, and his hands massaged her rear._

_Lydia shifted her underwear to the side, then lowered herself onto Fjornir's erection. They moaned in sync. Their mouths found each other's again and continued their impassioned kiss. Lydia used her strong thighs to control her movement up and down. Between kisses and light nipping of each other's lips, their tongues danced in uneven circles. Lydia moved one of her hands behind her and began to massage Fjornir's bulge._

_The Dragonborn moaned louder. He grabbed Lydia's hips and forced her down harder onto him. Lydia began to cry out loudly, breaking their kiss. She shifted her legs to stretch out behind the man, and Fjornir was able to move her faster, up and down. He lowered one hand and with his thumb he found Lydia's sensitive node. Her cries heightened in pitch as Fjornir's other hand continued to aid in her own thrusting. Lydia squeezed and tugged at Fjornir's bulge as her other hand squeezed one of her breasts._

_Their moaning intensified. Within moments, Lydia was screaming with pleasure. Fjornir held back his own release. When Lydia's moans quieted, he lifted her body off of him and turned her around onto her hands and knees, then entered her again. Fjornir's hands held onto her hips as he pounded into her. His thrusting slid deeper now, and Lydia continued to moan loudly._

_Fjornir's release caused his entire body to shake. His moans equaled that of Lydia's. His fingers dug into her fleshy backside and his hands smacked her fleshy cheeks lightly several times. Lydia's backward thrusting slowed as Fjornir's moans quieted, and then she pulled away from him._

_Lydia fell on her back across the bed, panting. Fjornir kneeled, looking down at her glistening body._

“ _Wow,” Lydia said. “That was exactly what I needed.” In a moment, the woman left the bed and gathered her clothes from the floor, then turned back to Fjornir. She leaned forward and kissed the Dragonborn. With her free hand, she patted Fjornir's thigh. “Good job,” she said, smiling, then walked out of the man's bedroom, closing the door behind her._

Lydia opened her eyes to an unfamiliar ceiling as her dream came flooding into her waking memory. She dreamed of that night often; the memory of her first and last sexual encounter with the Dragonborn often plagued her mind. She had approached him soon after that night, on their way back from slaughtering a group of bandits north of Whiterun. They had been cleaning dried bandit blood off of their bodies and armor when Lydia had embraced Fjornir from behind, pressing her breasts against his back. The man had then swung around and glowered at her. When she asked what was wrong, Fjornir had told her to keep her hands to herself, and that their relationship was to stay on a professional level.

Lydia had felt dejected and used, angry and, she admitted to herself, even more turned on by the Dragonborn. Since then, Lydia was never fully satisfied by any sexual partner. She eventually found herself with the overly-willing Farkas, who shared an interest in Lydia's ever increasingly-violent sexual appetite. Their sexual play had escalated recently to even include his twin brother Vilkas, ending with each of them covered in bites, bruises, reddened skin, and scratches.

_Vilkas!_ Lydia's memory came flooding back. She turned to her side and hoped to see the thick build and shoulder-length dark hair of Farkas, but instead found herself in the presence of the lean, shorter-haired Vilkas. The man snored softly. Lydia thought that he was actually smiling in his slumber.

She turned again onto her back and sighed. She should run. She should. Put on her clothes, escape this room, and lock herself in her bedroom at Fjornir's house. When she turned her head to look again at Vilkas's sleeping form, she wondered why she didn't.

–

_Ulfric knocked on the door the way he always had. Ralof recognized the pattern immediately. He walked up to the door and opened it. Ulfric was wearing his ornate robe, and Ralof wore only his loincloth. Ralof stood back to let Ulfric inside the guestroom, then locked the door behind them._

_The men stood facing one another in silence. Finally, Ralof spoke. “I heard you were made High King.”_

_Ulfric grunted a yes._

“ _So... you finally have what you wanted.” Ralof's arms crossed in front of his chest._

_The Jarl took a small step toward Ralof, and then another. Ralof stood his ground. Soon Ulfric stood before Ralof, close enough for the men to feel the other's breath._

_The pair stood in a stalemate, their gazes fixed upon one another, each unwilling to move or speak._

_Ulfric lifted his chin, keeping his eyes locked onto Ralof's. And then, the man gave in. With only the slightest hint of a smile, the left corner of Ulfric's lips curved upward._

_Ralof leapt forward and thrust his mouth onto Ulfric's. The force behind his attack pounded their bodies against the closed door. Ralof's hands held Ulfric's face to his own in an unrelenting grip. Ulfric's fingers grasped at Ralof's loincloth and struggled to unravel the incessant binding. Never parting his lips with Ralof's, Ulfric turned their bodies around and then it was Ralof's back that slammed against the door. Ulfric shrugged off his robe under which he wore nothing. Ralof nearly had to rip off his loincloth._

_The men kissed, bit and suckled one another's lips. Ulfric walked backwards to the large bed, then threw Ralof down onto it. The man landed with a grunt. Ulfric jumped on top of Ralof, pinned him to the mattress with his body, and continued to kiss him fiercely. Their bodies ground against one another, aching for each other, feeling one another's growing desire._

_Ulfric sat up and pulled Ralof with him, then leaned back onto the mattress. Ralof was sitting on Ulfric. In swift motions Ralof readied himself for Ulfric with his own spit, then mounted the man. Slowly, Ralof lowered himself onto Ulfric. The Jarl reached down and grasped Ralof's shaft. In moments Ralof accepted all of Ulfric into him. He gritted his teeth to stop himself from crying out. Too soon, Ralof released onto Ulfric's chest, and Ulfric let himself go inside of Ralof. The pair rocked back and forth for a short while, then fell together once more in a painfully forceful kiss._

Ulfric shot up from his sleep with a gasp. His breath was quick and shallow. He quickly became aware of the sticky residue on his torso and hand. He used the bedsheet to clean himself. _That dream again,_ Ulfric said to himself. He had dreamt of the reunion with Ralof about a dozen times since becoming High King. Ulfric lay back down next to the sleeping, pregnant Silda. Lustful, female Silda. In her pregnancy, her small breasts enlarged somewhat. Ulfric tried to ignore them.

His body ached for Ralof. His large hands clutched at his chest, wishing it was Ralof's hands that massaged him. He wondered if the man remembered anything about his past yet. Gerdur's last letter arrived three weeks ago with no different news. One more week and she would write to him again. Ulfric turned onto his side, facing away from the Queen, and cried.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Title and Ulfric dream inspired by Mental As Anything “Whole Wide World”. I was going to call this chapter “Someone Like You” which is very much the theme of the feels, but I imagine a thousand other stories/chapters in the world also use that title from the Adele song, so....]


	14. Sometimes It Lasts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eirin receives many wonderful birthday presents.

 “It's Eirin's birthday today,” Ralof said to Brynja.

The woman looked at Ralof. She could see the longing in his sad eyes and frowning face.

“Does she know I've regained my memories?” Ralof looked up at Brynja.

“I don't know,” she said.

Ralof rolled the bone bead on his wrist. “I should go see her.”

Brynja blinked back her welling tears. “Just write her a letter. She's likely spending time with her own family today.”

“Her family was lost in the attack on Helgen,” he said.

Brynja frowned and took Ralof's hand in her own. “That's not what I meant, Ralof. She's married now.”

Ralof knew this, and he knew that going to see Eirin would be more a necessity for him than for her.

–

Gerdur sat at her table and began to write her monthly letter to Ulfric. Every letter had been the same, but this one would be different, and it would be her last.

 _Ralof has regained all of his memories,_ she wrote. _However_ _, he remembers nothing of the time between his last battle and now._ _His spirits are a bit low at the moment, and I think he would benefit greatly from seeing_ _a good friend_ _such as yourself._

\--

“Where's Lydia?” Fjornir asked Haming. The boy shrugged. Fjornir frowned. “I'll cook you some breakfast,” he said.

“That's alright, I was going to go meet with Saadia to--” Haming made sure Eirin was still downstairs, but lowered his voice anyway, “--start on that cake.” He grinned.

Fjornir chuckled. “Alright then, we'll see you for our midday meal picnic in the western meadows.”  
  
“Passed the Khajiit traders?” Haming asked.

“That's the one.” Fjornir smiled at the boy and watched him leave. After a moment, he walked over to the basement stairs. He removed his linen trousers, then sent them floating to the basement floor.

Eirin saw the fabric land silently at the foot of the stairs. Fjornir followed, slowly, sauntering down into the basement wearing only his loincloth. Eirin thought he was attempting to dance while descending the staircase and raised an eyebrow at him. Fjornir approached his wife, slowly, with each step unraveling part of his loincloth. Eirin giggled, “What are you doing?”

Fjornir stopped in his tracks with his hands holding portions of the fabric at his waist. A facetiously shocked expression faded into a devious grin. Eirin laughed as Fjornir removed one fold of his loincloth and then another, slowly encroaching on the large tub in which Eirin was soaking. Mountain flowers floated around her exposed belly and breasts.

Fjornir had the large tub placed in the corner of their basement. It was made of thick steel which retained the warmth of the water nicely. A large kettle mechanism set over a hearth was installed next to the tub which would pour in heated water without having to stand. Several large buckets of clean water were kept for future use. The cleverest part about the tub was how it was drained – a siphon could be opened that led outside the basement and let the water fall into the deep underground sewers of Whiterun. The only thing bad about the tub was the inability to draw water so easily into it.

The Dragonborn moved his hips from side to side as he further unraveled his loincloth. Eirin tried not to giggle. When Fjornir stood in front of the tub, he whisked his loincloth away and let it fly behind his body. Eirin laughed openly at the scene, which in turn made Fjornir laugh. He raised a leg and entered the end of the tub opposite Eirin. The basin had plenty of room for them both. His legs surrounded Eirin's.

“Happy birthday, _Dyra_ ,” Fjornir said when he stopped laughing.

Eirin caught her breath. Her face was red from laughter and embarrassment. “Was that my gift?” she chuckled again.

Her husband smiled and shook his head. “Thankfully, no. Your gift comes later. _That_ was just me being happy to have the house to ourselves for a little while.” He winked.

Eirin's face hurt from smiling. “Can I expect that little dance every time we have a moment alone?” She raised herself to move closer to the man and kissed him. She turned around and leaned against Fjornir's chest. He wrapped her in his arms.

“Maybe, if you ask nicely.” He kissed the slope of Eirin's neck.

“I'll have to remember that.”

The couple held one another in the warm, flowery water for a long time. When the temperature cooled, Eirin moved to pour in more warm water, then snuggled in against Fjornir once more.

“So, twenty-eight today?” Fjornir asked.

“Mm,” Eirin said in acknowledgment. “I feel old.”

“You're not old,” Fjornir said, “you're pregnant.”

“Old to be pregnant,” she said.

“Hardly.” Fjornir kissed the other side of her neck. “I'm the old one.”

“Thirty-three is not old,” she said.

“Agree to disagree.” Eirin could hear the smile in his voice. Fjornir planted light kisses down her neck and shoulder.

Eirin had been trying to think of names for their child before Fjornir made his dramatic entrance. “What about Vigge, after my father?” Eirin asked.

“I told you, it will be a girl,” Fjornir said.

“Because the dragons say so?” Eirin laughed.

“They all seem to know. _Everything_. But none of them will tell me what is truly going on.”

Eirin sighed. “Alright, so, Vigga.”

Fjornir made a dissenting sound. “Avra,” he suggested.

“No,” Eirin said quickly.

“Why not? It's a pretty name.”  
  
“I know it is....” Her body tensed. “I chose it long ago, with someone else....”

And then Fjornir understood. “Alright then,” he said, brushing her braid to the side so he could kiss the nape of her neck. “Tindra,” he suggested.

Eirin chuckled. “I'm not going to name my daughter after a twinkling star.”

“I was thinking more of your sparkling fingers,” he said, making his fingers dance in a flourish. _Just like t_ _he day he took me to that meadow to practice with the lightning,_ Eirin recalled, and smiled.

“It should be unique,” she said, “but I can't seem to think of anything unique.”

Fjornir thought for a few moments. “What about _Dovah_?”

“'Dragon'?”

Fjornir gave a light grunt.

“I don't know,” she said.

“We'll think of something,” he said, rubbing his wet palms over her swollen belly.

Eirin leaned her head back on Fjornir's shoulder and was wrapped in her husband's large, warm arms. “You never told me what happened in Sovngarde,” she said.

“Mm, not today. _Today_ is all about you. First thing tomorrow, though, I promise.”

–

Fjornir, Eirin and Haming sat on a blanket in the western meadow outside Whiterun eating Haming's fruit-spice cake and meat-cheese sandwiches that Fjornir had made. Fjornir also brought a pitcher full of honeywater. Haming saw a horse and rider approach the Whiterun stables from the south, but thought nothing of it and continued to munch on his sandwich.

Fjornir and Eirin lay back on the blanket, staring at the fluffy cloud-filled sky. Eirin felt something warm being pressed into her palm. She felt the hard object then raised it in her fingers to examine it—a ring. Eirin turned her head to Fjornir.

He leaned closer and kissed her cheek. “ _Unaz sulsekiindah, Silliin_.”

Eirin stared at her husband. “What?”

“He said 'happy birthday'.” Haming grinned and sat in front of the pair.

Eirin looked to her adopted son. “How did you know that, Haming?”

The boy grinned and almost bounced in his seated position. “Fjornir taught me.”

She looked at Fjornir again, a somewhat annoyed look adorning her face. “Am I not privy to learn Dragonspeak?”

Fjornir chuckled. “Your lessons can start today, too.” He turned the ring in her hand so that she could see the inscription inside the band. Sets of symbols were separated from one another by spaces. “See the first set of symbols? The horizontal and diagonal line with a triangle above, then three vertical lines?” Eirin nodded. “ _Wah_.” Eirin repeated. “Now, the vertical line, dot and triangle, and two short lines that come together in a point over a dot and diagonal line. _Dii._ ” Eirin repeated the word. “The last, long set of symbols. _Silliin._ ” Eirin repeated again. She jumped when the baby kicked inside of her, hard. She laughed, and took Fjornir's hand to feel the movement. Fjornir smiled, then kissed Eirin. He then took the ring and slid it onto Eirin's index finger so that it rested against her wedding band. “The ring reminded me of you,” he said.

Eirin chuckled. “In what way?”

Fjornir kissed her hand. “Warm yellow glow, bright white sparkles.” He smiled, flourishing his fingers again.

Eirin laughed and kissed her husband. “Alright, so what do those words mean?”

The man smiled. “'To my soulmate'.”

–

Ralof passed through the Khajiit trading camp outside Whiterun. He had asked around if anyone knew where Eirin was, and finally a guard had told him.

As he turned to the north around the town wall, he saw the meadow where Eirin sat with her family. She was kissing the Dragonborn. Ralof saw a light shine from her left hand, a reflection against some object from the bright midday sun. He hung back, watching her and her family. He recognized Haming immediately, and realized that the boy had lived, and had found Eirin. He was glad for that.

Memories of his and Eirin's time in their meadow came flooding back to Ralof. His parents were friends with Eirin's, and he had visited Helgen on a regular basis his entire young life. As young children, while their parents talked about whatever adults talked about, Ralof and Eirin would escape to the surrounding meadows and run around pretending to be horses, galloping in a horsey gait. They caught butterflies and, before setting them free, made a wish. Sometimes Eirin and her parents visited Riverwood. On the banks of White River, Ralof had taught Eirin how to fish. Their first kiss happened after Eirin caught her first salmon. He recalled that it had been full of roe.

Ralof thought of Brynja back in Riverwood. By now she would have likely realized he was not at Gerdur's house. She would guess to where he had gone. His being in Whiterun was selfish, he knew this. Eirin was enjoying her birthday with her family. _Why did I come here?_ Ralof thought to himself. He walked back towards the Khajiit camp, bought a bottle of mead and a meat pie, and walked away from the temptation of confronting Eirin.

–

After the family finished their midday meal, Eirin led the way back into town. When they approached the front door to their home, Eirin saw flowers laying on the front step, tied together by a leather thong. Attached to the leather was a small piece of paper. Eirin picked up the bouquet and read the note. The writing was messy, awkward, as if written by a trembling hand.

_Happy Birthday, Eirin._

_-R._

Threaded on the thin leather thong was a time-worn engraved bone bead.


	15. A Small Crime

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lydia feels uncomfortable about her digression, Fjornir admits to Eirin he knows about Ralof, and Ralof has a talk with Brynja.

Vilkas and Lydia had spent the entire morning snuggling in bed at the Bannered Mare. They ate apples and sweetrolls for breakfast. Vilkas was far less talkative stone-cold sober, but he remembered everything from the night before. He regretted nothing of what he had said to Lydia, and made sure she knew that he was serious. “I'm in love with you,” he had repeated. He did not repeat his offer of marriage, however. Sober, he knew that such an offer was extraordinarily premature. The last thing Vilkas wanted to do was scare Lydia away. He relished every moment he lay there with the woman.

Lydia felt Vilkas stroking her hair, and at one point he re-braided her side-braid that had come unraveled. She spent most of the morning thinking in silence about what she had done, and why she had given in to Vilkas. _Had it been merely the mass quantities of mead?_ she asked herself. She stared at the bruises on her arm that lay across Vilkas's torso – relics of her rough nights with Farkas. Rough, raw sexual nights.

She wondered how long her relationship with Farkas would have lasted had Vilkas not stepped in the middle and complicated her feelings. _Feelings...,_ she thought to herself. _What feelings?_ She realized that what she had with Farkas was nothing more than a passing fancy, an infatuation to fill a hole in her life that she did not realize she had until Vilkas's confession. If she had actually had anything worthwhile in her life, she would have never accepted the position of the Dragonborn's housecarl, never would have had sex with her employer, never would have felt rejected and worthless....

She had been with Farkas for months. Never once did the word 'love' cross his lips. She wondered if love was really what she wanted, anyway. She knew she was a sexual being. Always had been. In truth she preferred the physical build of Farkas, who shared much in that area with Fjornir, she realized, but outside of the bed and battlefield, she found Farkas incredibly dull. There was nothing dull about Fjornir, but she had ruined any possibility of having a relationship with him. Vilkas, on the other hand, was her friend for a very good reason. He was interesting, smart, and clearly the man to look to for answers or for leadership in battle. He was also far more humble than Farkas. Though her combative arrogance with Farkas had been one of the catalysts for their exciting sex life, it did little else for their relationship.

Lydia propped herself up on her elbow and looked down at Vilkas. Cleaned of dirt and without his grey-brown warpaint smeared around his eyes, Lydia found the man quite handsome. He looked younger, and softer. Something about the smile that slowly formed on Vilkas's face seemed more sincere to Lydia than Farkas's smiles had ever been. She wondered how the man would react if she saw them now, naked, in bed, smiling. Though Farkas was by no means an angry or abusive person, she was legitimately worried he would hurt them both.

\--

“Haming, go inside. I need to talk to Fjornir for a moment,” Eirin instructed her nephew. When the boy disappeared inside, Eirin walked to the side of their house where few people would be in ear-shot. She turned to Fjornir and showed him the gift and message left behind by Ralof. “He remembers,” she said.

Fjornir frowned. He realized this would most likely be the case, and had wanted badly to tell Eirin, but hadn't had the chance. He actually wanted to check in on Ralof to make sure what had happened in Sovngarde had been real. He sighed, his shoulders sunk, and he looked Eirin square in the eyes. “I know,” he said.

Eirin's brow creased. “You _know_? How?”

\--

“It's over,” Ralof said to Brynja.

“Is it? Or is this just the beginning?” Brynja voiced her frustration at Ralof. She knew her pregnancy was making her incredibly moody, but she had a right to be upset. “This is a horrible way to begin our-” Brynja stopped herself from saying the word that almost came out.

“Our what?” Ralof asked.

Brynja stared at the man before her. It had begun to rain on his way back from Whiterun and he was soaked to the bone, puddles forming around his sodden figure. Thunder clapped in the distance after lightning sent flashes of light into their home.

“Our... whatever this is....” She slumped onto a chair.

Ralof kicked his boots off at the door and removed his dripping clothes, then hung them in front of the fire. He went to the bedroom and put on a warmer, heavier cloth tunic and soft hide trousers. “Nothing has changed,” he said, walking back into the front room. “I still want to try to make this work.”

“And this is how you show it, by running off to see your ex-lover?” Brynja retorted. She stood from the chair and walked over to the window, peering out to the east where the storm now raged, her hands gripping the window pane. Her voice quieted. “You made me fall in love with you,” she said. “I used to be independent. I never allowed myself to give in so... so easily. Not even with Silda.”

“People change,” Ralof said. He walked over to the window and stood behind Brynja, but did not touch her.

Tears trickled down Brynja's cheeks. “You say to wait, wait for you to learn to love me again. And what if that never happens for you, Ralof?” She turned to him. “I've finally let myself fall... and you may never be there to catch me.” Her voice cracked.

Ralof wrapped his arms around his best friend. “B', no matter what, whether or not I feel for you in that way, I'm here to stay. Nothing can change that.” He kissed the top of her head. “We're going to have a child together. This is my home, with you.” Ralof backed away from their embrace and showed Brynja his naked wrist. Brynja felt the soft skin where the leather thong and bead once lay. “I couldn't find a better place to be if I tried,” he added. He took Brynja's hands into his own. “For as long as I've known you, you've been there for me. You've never left my side, even when I lost my memories.” The thunder outside shook the house. “I don't ever want to lose that.” And then, he kissed her.

–

Vilkas pushed Lydia's side-braid behind her ear. “What are you thinking?” he asked.

 _Thinking, thinking, what am I thinking? s_ he asked herself. _Farkas punching you, yelling at me, punching a hole in the wall, crying that he loved me the only way he knew how...._ “Not much...,” she lied, turning her head to the side.

Vilkas's hand turned Lydia's face back to his. “The truth,” he pleaded.

Lydia frowned. She frowned a lot. She knew she was getting creases around her mouth from the expression. “What to do, now,” she admitted as much as she'd dared.

Vilkas urged her head down for a kiss, then asked, “Do you love him?”

“I don't know,” she said truthfully, “I'm not sure I know what love feels like.”

At hearing Lydia's words, Vilkas felt heartbroken. Not for him, but for her. “Like this,” he said. “It feels exactly like this.” His hand grasped hers and held it to the left side of his chest. His heart was beating hard and fast.

–

The sky had become grey and rain pounded onto the people of Whiterun. Eirin grabbed Fjornir's hand and they ran to the overhang in the back of their house where a wooden bench was dry enough to sit down on.

“Did you say you met Ralof's _soul_?” Eirin asked. She talked louder now, hoping the rain and thunder would drown out her words to any spying ears. She despised the gossiping that ran rampant in this town.

“Yes, at least part of it. The shield-thane of Shor said that when Ralof died, he was about to enter Sovngarde but you held onto his soul by reviving him. Somehow his soul split in two. His memories... at least all the good ones, were stuck in Sovngarde.” Fjornir frowned. “He was happy. Happy even to see _me,_ and we both know that my friendship with him all but ended the day he realized that you and I were together....”

Eirin felt her throat close, the way it always did when she held back tears. She recalled the day Ralof was injured, before the battle, when he kissed her, and admitted that he still loved her. She immediately regretted bringing him back to life, taking that happiness away from him. “Does he know this? About Sovngarde?”

“Likely not,” he said. “The two worlds seem... separate. But he might.”

“He has a right to know,” Eirin said, her voice shaking.

“I agree.”

Eirin turned the flowers to examine the leather thong with the bead and note attached. “He gave it back,” she said.

Fjornir said nothing.

“It's...,” she tried to find the words. “His gift.... He's letting me go.” She looked over at her husband, tears welling in her big brown eyes.

The sight of Eirin crying, and crying over Ralof, at that, broke Fjornir's heart. He wanted to burn that damned bead. “I suppose he is,” he managed to say.

Eirin wiped the tears that ran down her cheeks. “You should write to him. Tell him about Sovngarde.”

“It would be better said in person,” Fjornir admitted. “Why don't we visit Riverwood tomorrow?” He couldn't believe the words that he spoke. He wanted to stuff tundra cotton into his mouth to stop his careless tongue.

“Alright,” Eirin said immediately. She untied the knot in the leather thong that held the flowers together. “I need to give this back to him,” she said, holding the bone bead. “It's his to keep. I have no need of it anymore.”

–

“Ohh, Bronnnd?” Silda called in soft, lilting voice as she approached the palace guard in the otherwise empty barracks.

The strong, blonde middle-aged man stood from his chair. “Yes, my Queen?” He bowed.

“Brond, I told you, you don't need to bow. Not when we're alone.”

The guard grinned, and forcefully pressed his lips to hers. “I missed you last night,” he whispered.

“Hush now, you know I can't sleep anywhere but the royal chambers.” She shrugged off her thick, ornate robe to reveal her naked, vaguely-pregnant body.

“We have to be fast – the other guards will be off break in an hour,” he said while folding up his leather tunic and loosening the belt that held up his thick hide trousers.

“Yes, Brond, I'm well aware.”

The man grabbed her hips and pressed her body against his. He was naked only at the waist, and his erection pressed up against the blue cloak that wrapped around his tunic. He kissed her passionately, but Silda broke away. “Ah ah,” she said while shaking her index finger side to side. “First, I need what you have promised me.”

The guard grumbled, and walked awkwardly to his storage chest to retrieve the documents she requested. He handed her the leather-encased pamphlet. Silda eagerly opened the folded leather and examined the papers within. After a moment, she looked up at the guard and grinned. “Well done," she said. She rewound the leather thong around the folds, set it on the man's bed, then turned back to Brond. “Now, fuck me like the bad boy you are,” she said seductively.

“Yes, my Queen,” the guard growled, grinning from ear-to-ear. He shoved her onto her knees on his bed, and did as she commanded.


	16. And So It Is

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eirin and Lydia make uncomfortable confrontations.

 Fjornir and Eirin arrived in Riverwood in the late morning the following day. The weather was getting colder, and Eirin wore a new bear-skin coat that covered her more than her old wolf skin. Fjornir and Haming were wearing thick fur winter clothing. Haming had insisted on coming to see Ralof, especially when he realized he was one of the soldiers about to be executed at Helgen. They got out of the horse-drawn cart just before the eastern watchman's platform.

They first stopped by the mill, where Gerdur and Hod were hard at work. Gerdur was pleased to see Eirin for a change. Eirin and her family were lead around the back and west of the mill to an area that used to be empty, but now contained a house. “Ralof's around back,” Gerdur said, then went back to work.

Eirin bit her lip and looked up at Fjornir. He nodded, and the family walked around the new house to find Ralof. The scene that opened up made Eirin's eyes widen. Ralof was chopping smaller blocks of wood for use in fires. Though it was cold outside, his shirt was off, and he was sweating heavily. Seeing his adult, naked body when he was on death's door was one thing. Seeing him full of life and all of his still-bulky muscles flexing was something else altogether. She bit her lip again. Fjornir grasped her hand, thinking she was just nervous.

Ralof then stopped his axe mid-swing with a loud grunt. He dropped the axe onto the grass and grasped at his left upper arm. Eirin knew immediately that his mostly-healed broken arm was giving him trouble. She knew when she Healed the bone that it would aggravate him for the rest of his life. It was then Ralof saw the three visitors standing by the back of his house. The blonde man stared at the family while rubbing his arm. He decided he should act surprised to see Haming with them. He smiled at the group, then walked over. “Haming! Blessed Divines, is it a relief to see you live and well.” Ralof kneeled in front of the boy and gave him a hug. “How in Tamriel did you escape Helgen?”

“Gunnar helped me get out of the village, but he went back and I never saw him again,” Haming said.

“The old man died a hero, then,” Ralof said, a pained smile crossing his face.

“Eirin finally got one of my letters to come get me. I was living with my grandfather, but he died, too.” The boy frowned.

“Well,” Ralof said, standing, “it certainly was fortunate that she found you.” His eyes met Eirin's.

She couldn't tell if Ralof's eyes shone with spite or pain.

Fjornir looked at his wife and then back to Ralof, then cleared his throat. “We noticed that you had regained your memories.”  
  
“Yes, two days ago. I do not recall losing them, however.” Ralof crossed his arms in front of his chest.

“Ah, well,” Fjornir said, “there is something I thought you ought to know about your memories, and how you regained them.”

–

“Farkas?” Lydia called to the man quietly from the back porch of Jorrvaskr.

The warrior sheathed his sword and walked up to the woman, obviously delighted to see her. He leaned forward to kiss Lydia, but she stepped back, pushing against his chest. Farkas was confused. “What's wrong?” he asked.

“I... I think we need to spend some time apart, Farkas,” she said, feeling her frown-lines creasing deeper.

“What? Why?” Farkas took a step back away from her.

“It's just... what I need. Time, and space.” She hugged her waist with her arms and looked down. “I need to be by myself for a while.”

“By yourself? Not _with_ someone else?” His voice raised in volume.

“Farkas, please...” she pleaded, her voice remaining low and calm.

He stood there for a moment, staring at the woman in disbelief. His voice lowered into what sounded almost like a whimper. “I thought we were having fun.”

Lydia raised her eyes to meet his. “We were. I guess I just...,” she shrugged and looked away again, “I just don't think that _fun_ is enough for me, anymore.”

“Then what is?” He stepped forward again, his hands grasping her forearms. “What is it that you need? Flowers? Romance? I can do all of that.”

“Can you?” She said harshly, accusatorily, looking him square in the face. She softened her expression before continuing. “Farkas, we both know that you and I were just having fun. That's all _this_ was, you and me. Now you can go out on more adventures, have more fun with some hot young thing. That's how you and I got started, after all.”

Farkas just stared at Lydia, then said in a soft voice, “I don't want some hot young thing.”

“Sure you do, Farkas, we both know you do,” Lydia said.

“What if I only wanted you, hmm?” Farkas said loudly.

“ _What_?” Her voice took on an exasperated tone.

“Well, what if I did?” Farkas crossed his arms.

Her eyes narrowed. _Yes, what if?_ she thought to herself, growing angry at the man before her. She stepped up close to him, close enough to feel his breath. She realized that this was what Farkas did – antagonized her, riled her up enough to want to punch and kiss him at the same time. She stepped close enough to be able to kiss him, but instead spoke words in a low, fatal voice. “Then you would have showed it.” She backed away, slowly, staring him down, before walking away.

–

“Sovngarde? My soul was in Sovngarde?” Ralof asked Fjornir.

The Dragonborn nodded. “You decided to return to your body, to reunite both halves of your soul. The other option was for me, or someone else, to kill your living body, and reunite the halves of your soul in Sovngarde.” Eirin gasped, wide-eyed at Fjornir's last remark. “You chose the former.”

Ralof said nothing at first, but turned his gaze in the direction of his home. “Did I say why I chose to do that?” he asked.

“You wanted to live,” Fjornir answered. “You were happy in Sovngarde, but I had mentioned you were happy here, too, with your family in Riverwood. I had seen you briefly here, several months ago....”

Ralof knew Fjornir was right. From what everyone tells him, he was immensely happy before regaining his memories.

“Ralof? Gerdur said you had--” Brynja had walked into her backyard and was met by Eirin and her family. Seeing Eirin felt like a punch to her stomach. “--visitors,” she finished her sentence, quietly.

“Brynja!?” Fjornir was surprised to see one of the Stormcloak officers in civilian clothes. _And p_ _regnant!?_ Fjornir saw a small, round belly forcing her tunic outward.

“Dragonborn! Lovely to see you,” she greeted Fjornir and they grasped forearms. “I like the beard,” she winked.

Fjornir laughed. “So does Eirin,” he smiled at his wife, who blushed.

“I had heard you two got married. Congratulations. When is the baby due?”

“A little under three months, now,” Eirin said.

Brynja walked over to Ralof and took his hand into hers. “I'm barely three months along, myself,” she smiled, first at Ralof, then at Eirin.

Fjornir was terribly confused at seeing Ralof and Brynja together as more than friends, but he wasn't about to complain.

“Fjornir, Brynja, Haming, if you don't mind, I would like a moment alone with Ralof,” Eirin said.

Brynja felt like vomiting up her breakfast. “Sure, no problem.” She turned to Fjornir and Haming. “Come on, lads, I'll make us some lunch.”

When the others turned the corner around to the front of the house, Eirin removed the leather thong and bone bead from her coat pocket hand held it in front of Ralof. “I wanted to return this.”

The man looked at the bead, then at Eirin again. “It's yours to keep. Always has been.”

“I can't keep it, Ralof,” she said, her hand remaining outstretched with the object.

“Why not?”

Her eyes narrowed and mouth opened, then close again before she found her words. “You know why,” she finally answered.

“Because it reminds you of me?” he asked, stepping closer.

“Of course it does.”

“Of the day I gave it to you?” He stepped closer still.

“Yes.”

“That I'm the one you're meant to be with?” Ralof's face nearly touched Eirin's.

Eirin nearly answered, but held her tongue. She felt Ralof's breath on her mouth, smelled the sweat and pine on his body. She wanted nothing more than to kiss him, run away into the woods and make love to him. She closed her eyes and backed away, shaking the thoughts from her mind. _This damned pregnancy is screwing with my head_ , she thought. “Just take it, please,” she said with her eyes squeezed shut and arm outstretched.

“No,” Ralof said.

“You have to.” She opened her eyes.

“Only if you admit it,” he said.

Her expression shifted from distressed to horrified. She knew what he meant, but she did not want to believe it. “Admit what?”

Ralof's hand grasped hers that held the bead and squeezed it shut. “That you still love me,” he said.

Eirin began to cry. “Ralof, please....” She looked away.

His hand squeezed tighter. “Say it,” he whispered, harshly.

She shook her head.

Ralof's fingers intertwined with hers, locking the leather thong and bead into place between their hands. He stepped closer to her again, resting his other hand on her hips.

Eirin's body began to tremble. _Don't, don't you dare,_ she said to herself. She then felt Ralof's lips and breath on her neck and her knees nearly gave out. Emotions won her over. She wrapped her free arm around his neck and lifted herself to kiss his mouth. Ralof responded, his hand moving from her hips to her cheek, holding her to him. Her swollen belly caused their bodies to form an arc. _Stop!_ she heard her conscience command. With a gasp, she broke away from Ralof. Her cheeks were flushed red and flooded with her tears. Once again, just as on the day Ralof was injured, she found herself covering her deviant mouth with her hand, shocked at her own actions and betrayal to Fjornir. Except, unlike that day in the Healer's tent, this kiss was initiated by her.

In their separation, the leather thong and bead had ended up in Ralof's hand. Eirin looked at Ralof and then at the charm he held, then ran as fast as her pregnant body would allow back to the mill and beyond.

Fjornir watched Eirin fly by a window from inside the house. He looked over at Brynja, then stood from the table and ran outside. He called out to his wife, but she kept running. He darted after her, naturally faster than her, and cut her off before she crossed the wooden bridge. “What happened? Where are you going?” he asked. When he lifted her chin to look upon her face, he saw the ruddy, tearful cheeks, and knew Ralof had upset her. His hands smoothed over her fur coat and held her shoulders. “We'll go home, alright? We'll go. Just let me get Haming.” He kissed her forehead.

Eirin stood with her back to the house where Ralof and Brynja apparently lived, together, as a family. The sudden violent jealousy she felt surprised her. She heard Fjornir's muffled voice from inside the house, and finally heard him emerge with Haming.

Brynja watched them leave from the doorway.

As they crossed the wooden bridge toward the waiting horse-draw cart, Eirin looked over her left shoulder. Ralof stood, frozen, on the riverbank, a solemn look adorning his face and small strips of leather falling from either side of his hand.

–

“Lydia,” Vilkas called to her from his bedroom in Jorrvaskr. She entered, closing the door behind her. His smile soon faded when he saw the dire look on her face. “What's wrong?”

She still hugged her waist. “I told him,” she said.

“Who, Farkas? About us?” He stood and walked over to her.  
  
She shook her head. “No, not about us. That would be too much, too soon. I just told him I needed some time alone.”

“Oh, well, how did he respond?”

“Shocked. But he'll get over it,” she tried to convince herself.

Vilkas raised his palms to her cheeks and kissed the tip of her nose. “If he finds out about us from someone else....”

Lydia looked up at Vilkas. “What I told Farkas was the truth, Vilkas. I need time to be alone.”

Vilkas's hands dropped. “But, you... we....”

“'We', nothing, Vilkas....” She turned away from him and walked to a corner of the room. “Not yet, anyway. We just had last night. That's all. But last night made me think....” She turned back to Vilkas. “You say you love me. I don't know if I'm capable of loving anyone.... It wouldn't be fair to you to just be with you without knowing how I feel. And it wouldn't be fair to Farkas to be with you immediately.” She walked up to Vilkas, grasped at his hide underarmor, kissed him briefly, then pushed herself away. “I can't... _We_ can't. Not yet. Not yet....”

And then she was gone.


	17. Monsters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Companions are attacked.

 Fjornir tucked Eirin into their bed. She was despondent and exhausted. He went back downstairs and found Haming cooking something in the stew pot. “That's Lydia's job,” he said to the boy.

“She's not here,” he said.

“Again?”

Haming shrugged.

Fjornir grumbled. “I think I may know where she is,” he said. “Eirin's upstairs sleeping. If I'm not back by dinner, make sure she eats something, alright?”

Haming nodded.

Fjornir mussed the boy's hair and smiled at him before leaving.

–

Fjornir walked through Whiterun to Jorrvaskr but stopped in his tracks as he crossed the courtyard. Warriors were gathered outside the mead hall, and the steps leading up to the building were littered with dead bodies.

He spotted Aela and walked over to her. She stood over two dead men. “You're late. These two aren't a problem anymore.” She scowled at Fjornir. “You should go inside. Vilkas is waiting for you.”

Fjornir said nothing to the woman, and did what she said. Vilkas was waiting immediately inside the hall. “Where have you been?” His voice was trembling.

“Out with my family. What happened here?” Fjornir asked.

“The Silver Hand. They finally found enough courage to attack Jorrvaskr. We fought them off, but... the old man... Kodlak... he's dead.” Vilkas frowned. His grey-brown war paint had been smeared by tears.

Fjornir's heart sank. “Kodlak...” he whispered. “Was anyone else hurt?”

“No, but they made off with all our fragments of Wuuthrad.” The trembling in Vilkas's voice ceased and determination added a fierceness to his words. “But you and I are going to reclaim them. We will bring the battle to their chief camp. There will be none left living to tell their stories. Only songs of Jorrvaskr will be sung! We will avenge Kodlak, and they will know terror before the end.”

Fjornir stared at Vilkas. The last thing he wanted to do was be away from his family, but Vilkas was right – Kodlak must be avenged. “Alright,” he said, “but first I need to tell Eirin.”

The conversation Fjornir had with Eirin was awkward.

“Why do you have to go?” she had asked.

Fjornir wanted to explain to her about the Circle ever since they married, but he knew he couldn't. Keeping this secret from her ate away at his soul. “I have no time to explain now, _Dyra._ I'll be back as soon as I can, though, and we'll talk then.” He had kissed her forehead, grabbed his armor, and left with Vilkas immediately.

–

“The others have probably prepared Kodlak's funeral by now,” Vilkas said as they entered Whiterun. “Let's go up to the Skyforge to pay our respects.” The two Companions trudged through the town. Night had fallen well before they reached Whiterun.

On the way to the Silver Hand hideout of Driftshade Refuge in the Pale, the two had spent the night at the Nightgate Inn, planning their attack. They returned immediately to Whiterun after leaving the hideout once they retrieved the fragments of the sacred axe.

Walking the steps up to the Skyforge, Fjornir wondered if telling his wife about the Circle would endanger anyone. He knew he could trust her with their secret, but if any of the others discovered that Eirin knew, Fjornir was not sure how they would react. Fjornir also did not want to know how Eirin would react to finding out that he had lycanthropy. He decided to hold off on telling her until after their child was born, just so she would not worry about birthing a wolf-girl.

After Kodlak's funeral services, Fjornir entered the Underforge.

As Fjornir slid the rock door closed behind him, he heard Vilkas speak. “The old man had one wish before he died, and he didn't get it. It's as simple as that.”

“Being moon-born is not so much of a curse as you might think, Vilkas,” Aela said.

 _She still hasn't changed her mind,_ Fjornir thought.

“That's fine for you,” Vilkas retorted, “but he wanted to be clean. He wanted to meet Ysgramor and know the glories of Sovngarde. But all that was taken from him.”

“And you _avenged_ him,” Aela added.

“Kodlak did not care for vengeance,” Farkas chimed in.

“No, Farkas, he didn't. And that's not what this is about.” Vilkas thought his brother looked particularly sad. He felt the same, but had to put personal matters aside, for Kodlak's sake. “We should be honoring Kodlak, no matter our own thoughts on the blood.”

Aela sighed. “You're right. It's what he wanted, and he deserved to have it.”

“Kodlak used to speak of a way to cleanse his soul, even in death. You know the legends of the Tombs of Ysgramor?” Vilkas asked Aela.

“There, the souls of the Harbingers will heed the call of northern steel,” she responded. “We can't even enter the tomb without Wuuthrad, and it's in pieces, like it has been for a thousand years.”

“And dragons were just stories. And the elves once ruled Skyrim!” Eorlund mocked Aela. “Just because something _is_ , doesn't mean it _must be._ The blade is a weapon. A tool. Tools are meant to be broken. And repaired.”

Vilkas squinted his eyes and tried to see what Eorlund carried. “Is that.... Did you repair the blade!?”

“This is the first time I've had all the pieces, thanks to our Shield-Brother here.” Eorlund approached Fjornir and gave his shoulder a friendly squeeze. “' _The flames of a hero can reforge the shattered'_.” He unhooked the axe from the holster on his back and presented it to the Circle. “The flames of Kodlak shall fuel the rebirth of Wuuthrad. And now, it will take you to meet him once more.” He turned to Fjornir. “As the one who bore the fragments, I think you should be the one to carry Wuuthrad into battle.” He handed the blade to Fjornir, who accepted it, gladly. “The rest of you, prepare to journey to the Tombs of Ysgramor. For Kodlak!”

–

“ _Dyra_ ,” Fjornir spoke softly, waking his wife.

“You're back,” she said sleepily, her hand caressing his bearded face.

“For the night, yes.” He slipped off his undergarments and joined her in bed. “I have to leave before dawn.”

“Leave? Again?”

“Mm.” He lay close to Eirin. “Far to the north, near where I had to go while we were in Winterhold.”

“But that's so far....” She turned and rested her head on Fjornir's shoulder.

“I know, I know....” He stroked her braid. “But I have to do this one last thing. For Kodlak. For myself.... Then I'm all yours for a long time. I promise.” Fjornir blew out the candle on his night table and wrapped his arms around his wife.

–

 _Harbinger._ Fjornir said the word to himself over and over again. _First_ Dovahkiin _, then_ Dovahkriid _, then_ Bormah – _Father, whatever that is supposed to mean for me, and now Harbinger. I just want a peaceful life with my family. I don't need all of this responsibility._

He kicked his horse to a gallop, wanting to get to Nightgate Inn before nightfall. He was exhausted, both physically and emotionally. _So much for moving to Windhelm,_ he thought. _Unless the Harbinger can live across the damned country._ He growled. He knew that he needed a bigger home if he was going to stay in Whiterun. _Perhaps I could convince the Jarl and his Steward to permit me to commission an even bigger addition to the house, even a third floor_ , he thought. _And get a new housecarl._ When he found Lydia, he would have a lot to say to the woman.

Inside his rented room at Nightgate Inn, he attempted to shift into a werewolf. He failed. Kodlak had been right – Fjornir was cured of lycanthropy.

–

Fjornir reached Whiterun Stables just before twilight. He handed the reins of his stallion to Skulvar, then asked about the colt he purchased for Haming. “Growing strong. He'll be ready for riding in a year, I think.”

“Good. I may be back in a few years to purchase a nice filly,” Fjornir smiled and turned toward the gates.

Before he reached the Khajiit camp, he heard the unmistakable sound of a sword unsheathing. He immediately gripped his warhammer and spun around. Advancing toward him were several warriors, geared to the toe in steel, sneering.

 _Not warriors,_ Fjornir realized. _Thugs. Hired thugs._

Fjornir was not about to have any of this bull crap. He took a deep breath, and Shouted, “ _FUS... RO DAH_.” The thugs were thrown by the Shout toward the road and landed on their backs. Fjornir took the deadly bow from his back and loosed three arrows, one after the other, each driving into one of the thugs' leather soles. The men wailed in pain. One attempted to shoot an arrow at Fjornir, but instead received a crushing blow to his helmeted head. Fjornir always thought the sound was similar to that of a gourd being smashed. In two subsequent and swift, fluid movements, Fjornir's warhammer came down on the other thug's heads. He bent down to make sure they were dead, then checked their corpses for any clues to who sent them. Among a sack of gold and a small bottle of skooma, he found a crumpled note. He smoothed out the small piece of paper. In the moonlight, he was just barely able to read the careful, flowing script:

_Here is the up-front fee we agreed upon._

_When the deed is done, meet me in_

_Candlehearth in the usual room._

_Prove to me the Dragonborn has been_

_slain and you will receive a further_

_3,000 gold._

_-S._

Fjornir walked up to a torch and burnt the note.


	18. Secrets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Secret secrets are no fun...

One month after the mercenary attack, Fjornir finally received a tip from a friend on who had an idea about who ordered the hit.

“Windhelm? Why? To see about that house?” asked Eirin.

Fjornir tried to contain his fear and anxiety. “Yes, to see about that house.” He kissed her forehead. “I won't be gone long.” He held her heavily pregnant belly with both hands, and knelt to kiss it. When he stood, he motioned for Vilkas to enter the room. “Vilkas is going to watch over the house while I'm away. Hopefully Lydia will return soon, but until then I want Vilkas with you and Haming at all times.”  
  
“What? Why? I don't need a bodyguard, _Bear._ ”

“Normally I would agree, _Dyra_ , but this time, I insist.” He smiled and kissed his wife.

\--

“Our next stop will be Riverwood,” said Galmar. He sat next to the carriage driver, and a guard sat at the rear. The closed carriage was built especially for the royal tour of Skyrim. Jorleif and Galmar had insisted, otherwise the King and Queen would have been easy targets for archers.

Silda was visibly pregnant, now. Ulfric was pleased that the people of Skyrim would meet their Queen in such a state. Though the people of Eastmarch had heard the news of Ulfric's marriage, no official announcement was made, and the small villages of the country were not so well-informed. Ulfric wanted every man and woman in the country to know that they had a High King and Queen, and soon an heir to the throne.

He was terrified, however, at the prospect of seeing Ralof.

–

The skinny, middle-aged woman sat alone in a dark room in Candlehearth Hall, a heavy cloak shielding her face. She waited in this room every night for the last two months as instructed by her employer. She couldn't complain – this was the first real job she's had in years, let alone a place to sleep. The woman had been amused to learn that the High Queen shared a name with her. The coincidence gave the thief a false sense of pride. She felt that finally the people of Windhelm would respect her, and that this job was just the beginning.

When the Dunmer approached Silda the Unseen two months ago, she eagerly accepted the elf's offer of employment. She had been given new clothes, a cloak, and enough money to buy food and rent a room at Candlehearth for one month. One month later, the Dunmer asked if the deed had been done, if the mercenaries had returned. The thief gave the elf the bad news, and she was given another month's supply of gold to remain in the inn.

In the wee hours of the night, Fjornir entered the room where the thief slept. _It helps to have friends in low places,_ the Dragonborn thought. He grabbed the tiny woman's shirt collar and tossed her against the bedroom wall, immediately waking her. The woman's brown eyes were full of terror.

“Who are you?” he growled. “Why did you send mercenaries after the Dragonborn!?”

The woman reached for her dagger but realized that the brute in front of her wielded it instead.

“I-I didn't. I'm just paid to wait here for their return.” Her voice was trembling.

“Paid by _who_ ,” he growled, his grip on her shirt tightening.

–

Ralof wrapped his left arm around the sleeping Brynja. He was too nervous to sleep, himself, but watching the woman next to him sleep so contently calmed him. He knew he was doing the right thing by Brynja, but he couldn't shake the memory of Eirin's lips pressed against his one month ago, even if she had obviously regretted the embrace. Ralof realized that if he couldn't have Eirin, then he could do far worse than Brynja. The woman loved him, and he loved her, at least on some level.

Tomorrow, Ralof would marry the mother of his future child.

–

“Not here?” Ulfric felt all the strength he had mustered dissipate completely.

“Half the town has gone to Riften, for the wedding,” a guard told the King.

“What wedding?” Ulfric asked.

“Ralof and Brynja. Lovely little couple, with a little one on the way, too.” The guard smiled.

 _So Brynja finally shacked up with her friend_ , Silda thought. She was amused by the knowledge that she had slept with them both. She turned to Ulfric and watched as he reacted to the news. His devastation seemed an over-reaction to her.

Ulfric growled under his breath. “Galmar, ready the carriage, let's try to reach Falkreath before nightfall.”

–

Fjornir was confused by what the skinny woman told him. Silda the Unseen sat back on her bed and rubbed her neck. “Why would an employee of the Shatter-Shields want me dead?”

The woman grumbled, then spoke in a raspy voice. “Suvaris did not say, but if I had to guess, it's because you disrupted a major part of their shipments by helping out their competitor.”

“How would you know such things?” Fjornir asked.

Silda the Unseen grinned and leaned forward. “They don't call me 'Unseen' for nothin'. I see many things... because no one notices that I'm there.”

Fjornir stared at the gangly woman. She was right. He had been in Windhelm many times, and had never seen her. “Well, you can stop waiting. The mercenaries will not be returning.”

The woman frowned. “Are you going to kill my employer?” she asked.

“No,” Fjornir replied, “but I am going to pay you to give them a message from me.”

–

“Married,” Ralof said softly, holding Brynja's hand at the altar after the ceremony was completed. “It doesn't feel like I thought it would. I thought perhaps... it would feel different from just... being together.”

Brynja tucked Ralof's single braid behind his ear. “It _is_ just like being together. Only now, we have Mara's blessing and protection. And, should anything happen to either of us....”

“What's going to happen?” Ralof frowned, making Brynja laugh softly.

“Nothing, Chubby, nothing.” She kissed her husband.

“I'm not chubby,” he said.

Brynja grinned. “Yes you are, and I like it.” She patted his torso. “We match.”

The festivities in the Temple began. Ralof and Brynja's friends and family ate and drank and chatted amongst themselves.

Brynja was later poked on the shoulder by someone. When she turned, she squealed with delight. “Sister!” Brynja hugged the woman as tightly as she could without squishing her baby inside her belly. “I'm so glad you made it.”

“Me too,” the woman said, “I wouldn't have missed it for the world.” Brynja could see the sadness in her sister's eyes, but said nothing.

“So, tell me, sister, what has the Great Lydia been up to?”

–

Suvaris Atheron opened the letter that was delivered by Silda the Unseen. “What is _this_?” the Dunmer asked.

“I did not read it, ma'am,” the thief answered.

The trader finished reading the letter. “So he lives,” she crumpled the paper in her hand which began to tremble. “Well, at least I can stop wasting money on you.”

Silda the Unseen scoffed. “And what do I do for gold, now?” she asked.

“I don't care.” The Dunmer shoved the thief away from her office and slammed the door in her face.

Ever since the war had gone in the favor of the Stormcloaks, life had been worse for the elves of Windhelm. She had hoped that the Imperials would win and that Brunwulf Free-Winter would become Jarl of her city, but because the Dragonborn sided with the Stormcloaks, her hopes were futile.

The elves of Windhelm were angry, and Suvaris was angrier than most.

–

The Dragonborn dragged himself into bed. He was beyond exhausted after riding non-stop from Windhelm. Eirin curled up next to him. “So, what news?” she asked.

Fjornir grumbled. “We won't be moving to Windhelm,” he said, covering his face with his palms.

“Why not? Is there a problem with the house?”

 _Sure, why not_ , Fjornir told himself. “Yes,” he lied, “but that's not the only reason I think we should stay here.” He uncovered his face and looked up at Eirin. “I belong in this town. I belong near the Companions. And what's more, we're in the center of the country. It will be easier for me to travel places should people need my help.”

Eirin caressed his soft, red-brown beard. “Very true,” she said. “And Haming has made friends here. It would be a shame to drag him away from that.”

“I'll see about building another addition to the house. Then, it won't feel so crowded.” His hand lowered to caress Eirin's abdomen.

Eirin lay down next to Fjornir, needing a nap herself. She snuggled up to Fjornir's side and held his hand. She whispered, sleepily, “By the way... Vilkas is in love with Lydia.” Fjornir turned to Eirin with a confused look in his eyes. “He thinks that he's the reason why she left Whiterun.”

–

When Ralof and Brynja returned to Riverwood, they were greeted by Lucan Valerius, the owner of the Riverwood Trader. “Ralof! Brynja! Congratulations.”

“Thank you, Lucan,” Ralof said.

“I have a package for you two, delivered by the High King himself! One moment, let me go get it.” Lucan disappeared into the Trader.

Ralof turned to Brynja with an inquisitive look, but she just shrugged. He knew it could only be Ulfric, but he wondered what the man was doing here in Riverwood.

Lucan reappeared carrying a small pouch. “There you are,” he said, handing Ralof the pouch. “I'm told to relate King Ulfric's congratulations, and his apologies for not giving you this gift himself.”

Ralof's brow creased, and he opened the sack then dumped the heavy contents onto his palm. Two large rings sparkled with numerous gems. One was smaller than the other – clearly, they were meant to be wedding gifts. Ralof held the smaller of the two out to Brynja. “I guess Ulfric approves,” he said, slipping the ring onto one of Brynja's fingers.

\--

Ulfric and Silda were now in Morthal. Silda found the town a dreary, awful place, but was excited to be there for a very different reason. She was disappointed, however, when the woman she sought was not present when the town reluctantly greeted the royal family.

That night while Ulfric slept, Silda crept outside and made way to the house of the woman she was looking for. She untucked the letter from her cloak and slipped it under the front door to the woman's house, then returned to her sleeping husband.

She was livid with Ulfric, though she did not show it. When the man left such exquisite gifts for Ralof in Riverwood, the pieces of several puzzles suddenly fit together.

The rumors had been true. Ulfric preferred men over women. This Silda figured out easily, since Ulfric often entered her as if she were a man. Then there was Ulfric's mix of joy and despondency upon reading that letter from Gerdur, writing that Ralof had regained his memories. And finally, Ulfric's clear devastation at the news of Ralof's marriage, and the gift of rings off of Ulfric's and her own fingers. Silda was incensed. If being Queen didn't have such wonderful perks, she would have wanted a divorce.


	19. Never Alone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Dovahkiir arrives...

 “Remember to breathe, Eirin,” Saffir said, holding the woman's shoulder. The Redguard had agreed months ago to be Eirin's midwife, as she had done for many others in her lifetime.

Fjornir let Eirin hold his hand. Every time the pains returned, she squeezed so hard he thought his fingers would crack, but he said nothing. He sent silent prayers to Mara to make the ordeal less painful for his wife. Though teas can aid in making most pains less severe, this pain was not one of them, but Eirin drank the tea every four hours anyway, just in case.

Eirin lay in her bed, covered in sweat. She had been experiencing contractions for too many hours to count. Everyone was exhausted. Haming was too anxious to sleep, so he fetched everyone water and kept Fjornir and Saffir fed. Eirin knew what to do, when to push and when not to push, and how to breathe properly. This was her second child. But knowing what one should do does not mean one will remember to do it in a stressful situation. She was eternally grateful for Saffir's presence.

When Eirin felt another contraction, she pushed. Pillows braced her back, but Fjornir often held her in position whenever she pushed. He heard two of his knuckles pop from Eirin's grip on his hand. Saffir moved to examine Eirin. “Almost there, Eirin. A few more pushes.” Saffir was right. After the next contraction, she saw the baby's head crowning. “I see brown hair!” the woman grinned. Fresh linens lay in front of Eirin ready to receive the infant, and Haming had prepared a small basin of water to wash it. The boy sat as patiently as possible in a chair by the door.

With several more pushes, death-grips on Fjornir's hand, and a banshee's worth of screaming, Eirin and Fjornir's child was born. Saffir immediately wrapped the infant in the linens and placed the child on Eirin's torso. Fjornir took the cleaned knife he was given and cut the cord. Saffir cleaned away the afterbirth, placed the messed linens in a sack, and told Haming to bury them in their backyard immediately.

Eirin's breathing slowed. Still holding her husband's hand, she smiled down at her child. And then they noticed something peculiar – the child had eyes of different colors, one green, and one brown. Eirin looked up at Fjornir, and then at Saffir.

“Saffir, have you seen?” Eirin asked, weakly.

“Yes, your daughter is of two spirits,” the Redguard said.

“Two spirits? What do you mean?” Fjornir asked.

Haming returned, and Saffir took the child to bathe her. “It's a very, very rare occurrence. Sometimes the child will just have eyes of different colors, as yours does. Other times, the child may even be half-male, half-female. But I don't see any signs of that with your daughter.”

“My child is two people?” Eirin asked.

Saffir nodded while gently washing the baby girl. “Our legends say, that sometimes the spirits and bodies of what would have been twins can merge. Either one spirit was stronger and took over, or one was called back to Aetherius, leaving a vacant body. Sometimes this happens if the mother is under a lot of stress during her pregnancy, and sometimes it just... happens. If the mother is lucky, this joining happens early, even before she may know she is with child. If it happens too late... the child may be severely deformed. Those children rarely live long.” She wrapped the child in clean, dry linens and brought her back over to her parents. “You and your daughter are very lucky. She will be strong, this one.”

Eirin took the child in her arms again and held her against her naked breast. The baby was pink, wriggling, tiny, and tired. Eirin was tired, too. “You said stress can cause the joining?” Eirin asked.

“It can,” Saffir said. “Or that's what is often said, anyway. Only the Divines know for sure.”

Eirin looked up at Fjornir, then back at Saffir again. “What about using magic? Or... saving someone's life?”

–

Ralof kissed Brynja's rounded belly, then snuggled up to her side. His hand felt the child kicking within.

“At least the kicking doesn't make me jump anymore,” Brynja said.

“What about that other problem?” Ralof asked.

Brynja turned to her husband and grinned. “Still unbearable, I'm afraid. And unfortunately there are only two temporary cures.”

“Snowberries dipped in goat cheese.” Ralof shook his head. “And what's that other cure again? I keep forgetting.” He smiled innocently.

Brynja whipped her body around so that she landed on Ralof's waist. Her hands pressed down on his shoulders, preventing him from moving. She kissed her husband violently. Ralof responded quickly. His strong hands gripped Brynja's hips, then traveled north to her swollen breasts. Since becoming pregnant, she no longer bound them tightly in linen. Ralof greatly preferred her without the binding. He grasped Brynja's hips again and shifted their bodies so that he was now in control. He lowered himself to kiss her mouth, and then slowly, delicately, made love to his wife.

\--

“ _Nehenarah_ ,” Fjornir whispered to his daughter as Eirin dozed off. “ _Hi neh kos enarah_.” Fjornir was exhausted too, but decided to stay awake with his daughter while Eirin slept for the first time in he can't remember how long.

He had thanked and paid Saffir for her excellent services. He was particularly thankful for her knowledge on his daughter's condition. _No, not 'condition',_ Fjornir corrected himself. Though there was nothing wrong with the girl, she was decidedly different. Saffir was clear that the girl was perfectly healthy, but that her body was meant to be twins. She will likely be very strong in spirit – a survivor.

But it's what Saffir said to Eirin about why the merging happened that stuck in his mind. No one realized it at the time, but when Eirin revived Ralof, she may have sacrificed the soul of one of her developing infants to do so. Saffir said that this is only women's talk and nothing really knowable, particularly because two-spirit children are born so rarely. But the fact that Eirin was pregnant at the time she brought Ralof back from the dead – literally – suggested to Saffir that perhaps the old wives' tale had some truth to it.*

The Dragonborn thought about what Odahviing had said to him that 'the spirits have joined' –  _'ziiieu aavaan'_  – and that he had called the child  _Dovahkiir –_ Dragon Child. He did not understand what the dragon meant at the time by saying those words, but thought now that perhaps the Ancient sensed something about the child that Eirin carried. He wondered if  _Dovahkiir_ were two-spirited people, or if part of his own dragon soul was contained within the child.

He then thought of what Savos Aren had said long ago in Winterhold. His and Eirin's union was unique. Neither of them was purely human, and therefore their daughter may not be purely human, either.

“ _Dovahkiir_ ,” he whispered to the sleeping newborn. “What are you, my girl?”

–

After receiving an anonymous note with some intriguing information, Alva decided to visit the town of Whiterun. The moon was full that night, but not many people were walking around. To her right she saw what appeared to be a lively establishment, and entered. She was greeted by a Nord woman, but declined her offer of a drink. She instead rented a room, and once inside waited patiently for the other patrons to retire to their own rooms for the evening. She walked slowly, silently, around the building, sniffing at the air. She entered the kitchen and tried not to breathe in the stench of cooking animal flesh, but rather she followed her senses upstairs. Alone in a single bedroom was the source of the sweet smell – a Redguard woman. Alva took in the sight of the lovely creature, appreciating her serenity and sweet scent, before kneeling down and sinking her fangs into the woman's dark, sweaty neck.


	20. Haunted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Family is always an important thing...

 Alva left the Bannered Mare with her thirst adequately quenched. She spotted a guard standing between two shops in the market square, and approached him.

“Only burglars and vampires creep around after dark. So which are you?” the guard asked in an accusatory tone as Alva drew closer.

The vampiress lifted the hood from her head. She smiled seductively and looked the guard directly in the eyes. The guard's arms fell from across his chest to his sides. When Alva's fangs emerged, the guard did not scream, but smiled. “Bit late to be wanderin' around, isn't it lass? Stayin' safe, I hope.” The guard's demeanor was almost amorous.

“Oh, I'm fine,” she said in a smooth, silky voice. “I was hoping you could tell me where a man named Fjornir lives.”

–

Lydia tried to sleep in the cramped bed at the Sleeping Giant Inn. Since the night she spent with Vilkas, she hadn't slept well at all. She told herself it was the guilt of leaving Farkas after having drunken sex with his brother, and then telling Vilkas she was leaving Whiterun. The first place she went after leaving Whiterun was Riverwood to look for Brynja. She was secretly amused when she found out that Eirin's lost love was not only living with, but engaged to her sister, who had for most of her life not been terribly interested in men.

She turned onto her side and looked at the candles on the night table. She thought that for sure by now she had lost her job as the Dragonborn's housecarl. Thankfully, she didn't care. She didn't want to be around him or his annoyingly perfect family, nor did she want to be around his new baby, which she guessed was about to be born any day now.

 _Babies..._ , she said to herself, cringing at the thought of screaming tiny humans with outstretched arms wanting her attention all the time. She laughed at the memory of Brynja saying once that she wanted children, lots of children, and yet she primarily spent her time in the beds of women. “And here I am floating from man to man,” she said to no one. “ _Ughh_.” She thanked the Divines for her herbs that so far had completely prevented any pregnancy.

Lydia then thought of Vilkas and his confession of love. _Surely_ , she thought, _Vilkas would want children. He's so... so...._ “Smushy,” she said aloud. She missed the old Vilkas that held his emotions behind a mask of steel and stone. She wondered if she had never had that night with the twins if Vilkas would then never have softened up and confessed to her how he had felt all these years. She wondered what Vilkas was doing right then. She wondered if he could sleep.

“No!,” she said in a harsh whisper to herself. _You're not allowed to think of him right now. Not of any of them. Stop it!_ She shoved the pillow over her head as if to stop the world from entering her mind.

–

Fjornir finally fell asleep next to Eirin with his daughter cradled between them. Vilkas had checked on them and Haming a few times during the night. Since he couldn't sleep anyway, he thought he might as well do his job well. Too well. He sat in the chair in the upstairs hallway, eating a cheese and horker meat sandwich and sipping on mead. From this position he could hear the whole household, even Haming's little snores downstairs.

He looked across the hall into what was once Lydia's room. He couldn't bring himself to sleep in the bed, and had been using a bedroll since he'd moved in to Fjornir's house. He thought tomorrow he would suggest moving the child's room upstairs and having him sleep downstairs, which made more sense, especially since the infant will be closer to them this way. He hoped a change of scenery would allow him a restful slumber.

Vilkas had just finished his sandwich when a gentle knock sounded on the front door. Vilkas guessed it was the middle of the night, and was confused and worried. And hopeful. _Lydia?_ he wondered. His heart jumped at the prospect. He quietly but quickly walked downstairs and to the door, and opened it. His eager smile faded instantly.

“Who are you?” he asked.

“My name is Alva.” Vilkas was disarmed by the woman's captivating, liquid voice. “I'm looking for Fjornir.” She looked into the eyes of the man before her, wondering if he was who she was looking for.

Vilkas squinted at the woman. “What's wrong with your eyes?”

When his pupils failed to dilate, she became aggitated. _Why isn't it working?_ she asked herself. Her hypnotic stare was not working on the man. She then smelled something odd that she couldn't place, something of a mix between cooked meat and a wet dog. Then, she knew – this man was a werewolf. “My eyes? Nothing. It's just the reflection of the hearthfire inside. So,” she flashed her fangless human smile, “does Fjornir live here?”

“The Dragonborn is sleeping. Come back in the morning.” When he closed the door, it failed to latch. The woman's hand had stopped the door just before it closed. She opened it again, but did not step inside.

“I can't,” she said, calmly.

Vilkas crossed his arms in front of his chest. “Then by all means, leave a message with me. I'll make sure that he receives it. _In the morning._ ”

–

“I still say it's my child in there,” Brond said teasingly to his Queen.

“Even if it _is_ , it _isn't_. Understand? No one can know.” Silda slipped her dress back on. Her slim body remained the same, except for her larger breasts, but her belly protruded a great amount for being only six months pregnant.

“Yes, yes, I know,” Brond drank heavily from a wine bottle. “But considering what you've told me about the King's... desires....” The guard laughed.

“Hush, Brond! That's only speculation.”

“Sure, sure.... By the way, did that information I procured do any good?”

“I think so. Time will tell....” Silda combed her hair with her fingers.

“I still don't understand why you needed it.”

“I was just curious, really. I swear if we didn't have our little... meetings, I would go mad from boredom.”

“You had me go to Riften because you were bored? _Puh!”_

Silda turned to her lover and climbed onto his lap. “Yes, I did. _And_ because you have a knack for finding things.”

Brond laughed. “Is that why you had me transferred from Dawnstar? And here I thought you just missed me.” He kissed his Queen with his wind-and-cold-roughen lips.

She did miss him, very much so, but not for the reasons the man had hoped. Never that. Silda lifted herself from his waist and turned to leave. “You should really find yourself a wife, Brond,” she said as she left the barracks.

–

“Fjornir, a woman came late last night, after you had gone to sleep. Alva. She gave me this to give to you.” Vilkas handed Fjornir a wax-sealed letter.

The tired father yawned. “Thank you, Vilkas.”

“Is Eirin still sleeping?” Vilkas sat down to a plate of breakfast.

“Still, no. Again, yes. And the girl next to her.”

“I heard the infant cry last night. Impressive power in her already.” Vilkas winked.

Fjornir laughed, then opened the letter. “It just says to meet her at the Bannered Mare tonight.” He looked at Vilkas. “She didn't say anything else?”

Vilkas shook his head. “She just wanted to know if you lived here.” His brow creased as he recalled the encounter. “And she asked for you by name.”

Fjornir looked up at Vilkas. “By name? Not 'Dragonborn'?”

“By name,” Vilkas confirmed. “I figured that was unusual.”

“It is...,” Fjornir rubbed his temples, trying to erase the headache he had from having too little sleep.

–

“Good morning, sister,” Brynja greeted Lydia as she entered her home. “Get any sleep last night?”

“Some. Maybe.” Lydia plunked down onto the bench at the dining table. “Someone should invent a tea for the sleep-deprived so we don't walk around all day feeling like draugrs.”

Brynja laughed. “Or the sleep-deprived can just talk to their sisters and tell them why they aren't _sleeping_.” Brynja gave her sister the look that always said, _Alright, out with it!_

Lydia sighed and laid her forehead on the dining table with a thud. She was thankful Ralof was outside working already. Lydia finally had to admit she was in serious need of some sisterly talk. “I messed up, Bryn.”

“Messed up what?” Brynja dunked bread into a bowl of goat's milk and ate hungrily.

“My love life.” Her head remained planted on the table.

“ _You_ have a love life?” Brynja giggled.

“Hey,” Lydia sprang into an upright position. “I know I didn't for a long time....” She traced the lines and knots in the wood of the dining table. “But I was just trying to get over... that....” She frowned as she replayed in her mind the night she was raped by her drunkard uncle many, many years ago.

“Yeah, I know, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have joked.”

Lydia shrugged. “And yes, I've had a few lovers. Nothing serious.... Whiterun always has lots of travelers.... But then... then, I became housecarl for the Dragonborn.”

Brynja studied her sister's body language. “You're not just on vacation, are you?”

“I left. Left the job. Unofficially, but... I suppose Fjornir has figured out that I'm not coming back.”

“But why, Lydia? He's a good man. And he's really... softened up... since meeting the Healer.”

“I had sex with him,” Lydia said flatly.

Brynja's eyes went wide. “Gods... I'm starting to think half the women of Skyrim have.”

“Hmm? Why? I don't think he's like that, Bryn. We only had sex the one time. I wanted more, but... He wouldn't have me again. Said we needed to be professional.”

“That's what happened with... a friend of mine. But he literally sent her away, after....”

Lydia gave her sister a knowing look. “I think it was different with me and Fjornir. I was his employee.... I thought he and I could have maybe had a casual thing... but.... You know, aside from Eirin, and myself that one time, he's never taken anyone into his bed in his house in Whiterun. I don't know about his years in and out of Jorrvaskr, though. He used to have a thing with that huntress, Aela, for a long time. I don't think he strayed from her.”

“Maybe the rumors that he has a child in every Hold are false, then.” Brynja's tone had a hint of sarcasm.

Lydia shook her head. “I doubt they're true. I mean, it's possible. You know, men.... But he's just so....”

“Prudent,” Brynja suggested.

“Yeah. Like Vilkas....” Lydia picked a piece of bread apart and tossed the chunks onto a plate.

“Vilkas? I thought his name was Farkas?” Brynja's eyebrow raised.

“Vilkas is his brother. His twin....”

Brynja began to laugh.

“It's not funny,” Lydia said in a low, annoyed voice.

Brynja tried to stop laughing. “Ohh, Lyd....”

–

“I was thinking...,” Fjornir said to Eirin. “What about Nehenarah?”

“What? That's kind of long, _Bear_....” Her face formed into a half-smile, half-grimace, the way it always did when she considered something unusual. Fjornir found it adorable. “Is that a dragon word?”

“Two, actually. It means 'never alone'.”

“'Never alone?'” Eirin turned her gaze down to her daughter whose wide two-colored eyes found hers momentarily while nursing at her breast. “Can I call her 'Narah for short?”

Fjornir smiled. “I don't see why not.”

Eirin saw her husband's eyes light up when he smiled. She knew she could not deny him this. “Nehenarah, it is, then.” She looked back at the girl. “Little 'Narah, never alone, even carrying her lost sibling with her....” She frowned, then looked back to her husband. “Do you really believe that? What Saffir said?”

“It's possible, I think,” Fjornir said. “She has one green and one brown eye. It's as if our bodies truly merged and made her. I've never met one person with different colored eyes, but I've met twins, and sometimes they don't have the same colored eyes as one another....” He kissed Eirin's forehead, and then his baby girl's. “ _Nehenarah, kiir do un sille.”_

“'Child of' what?” Eirin asked. She was learning, slowly.

“'Child of our souls.'” Fjornir smiled, and lightly brushed the baby's hair with his fingertips. “By the way, Vilkas said a woman came to see me last night. Probably needs my help with something. I have to meet her at the Mare tonight.”

Eirin frowned. “Why doesn't she just come here?”

“I don't know. That's what the note said.”

“Maybe Vilkas should go with you.”

“No, I want him here. I can protect myself in the safety of an inn. It's you I'm more worried about.” Fjornir watched Eirin's demeanor completely change. She was distraught. At first, he did not understand the reason for the shift, but then, “Ohh.... No, Eirin, it's not like that.” He knew that Eirin was thinking of her first husband having an affair with a tavern maid. “Hey,” he gently lifted her chin with his thumb and index finger and so that she looked at him, “it will _never_ be like that _.”_ He held her chin up until she nodded with acknowledgment, then tenderly kissed her lips.

–

Inside the Bannered Mare, Fjornir asked Hulda if she knew if anyone was there waiting for him.

“Upstairs.” She pointed to the area that overlooked the main hall. “Young woman, dark hair. Looks a bit like Lydia.”

Fjornir looked up and made out the figure of a woman sitting cross-legged on a chair. He walked up the stairs and stood in front of the woman, who he found to be quite stunning. “Are you Alva?”

The young woman looked up. “Are you Fjornir?”

“Yes. What can I do for you?”

“Please,” her had flowed toward the other chair, “sit.”

Fjornir's steel armor clunked down onto the wooden seat.

“Do the men of Whiterun always walk around in full armor?” she asked with a teasing tone.

The Dragonborn smirked. “Why did you summon me, Alva?”

The young woman sat back in her chair, her long, sinuous legs still crossed. “I received an anonymous letter not long ago. Did you send it?”

“No. What letter?”

Her lips pursed. “You look older than thirty-three,” she said.

“Thirty-four. I've had a hard life,” he said, eying the woman tentatively.

She shook her head. “Thirty-three. Your birthday isn't for a month, yet.”

“What?”

“You were born in Rain's Hand, just before Second Seed,” she said, plainly.

“What are you talking about?”

Alva stared at Fjornir, blinking once, slowly. “The letter I received mentioned that the famed 'Dragonborn' was a man named Fjornir, an orphan out of Honorhall, currently residing in Whiterun.” She handed Fjornir the letter.

He read the letter, then looked up at the young woman. “Who would send this? How....” Confusion flooded his face.

The woman smiled. “If you promise not to make a scene, I will tell you.” Fjornir stared blankly. “Promise me,” she commanded.

“Alright, I promise,” he consented.

Alva leaned forward into the sconce light and let Fjornir see the light reflect on her eyes. She then opened her mouth and let her sharp fangs descend.

Fjornir gulped. He had encountered vampires before, but none were ever pleased to see him.

The woman retracted her fangs and leaned back into her chair, recrossing her long legs. “I'm fifty-four years old, Fjornir. I was turned vampire when I was twenty-one, just after you were born. I'm your mother.”

Fjornir stared, and said nothing.

“Don't believe me?” she asked. Her voice was edging on amused. “You have a birthmark on your left inner thigh. You were handed over to Honorhall Orphanage at the end of First Seed, when you were about half a year old. You were swaddled in a dark red cloth with a note tucked into the fabric. You had just begun to crawl.... I couldn't handle you, care for you, even feed you properly any longer. I had to give you up. I am indeed sorry to hear you've had a hard life, but I assure you, having a vampire as a mother would have been even less enjoyable.”

Fjornir listened to her list of evidence, all of which matched everything he knew about himself. “What was on the note?” he asked.

“Your name, and mine, and a short something about being sorry,” she answered.

He stiffened. “I was never told your name. I was told _no one_ knew my mother's name.”

“Lies,” Alva said. “Everyone knows that the hag who runs that place is deplorable. I'm sorry for leaving you with her, but I had no other options.”

Fjornir was at once confused and angry. He didn't know what to believe, but not many people knew that he had a birthmark, let alone where it was.

“I imagine,” she continued, “you are also curious to know the identity of your father.”

When the woman smiled broadly, Fjornir's heart began to race.


	21. Stolen Power

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fjornir and Lydia are finally honest about a few things....

“Bull shit,” Fjornir said, crossing his arms over his chest.

“I know you have no reason to believe anything I say to you, but I am not lying. I have no reason to lie,” Alva said. “You look just like him, and your half-brother. You have my eyes, though.” Fjornir raised an eyebrow. “My _original_ eye color. And my cheekbones.” She grinned, then continued. “King Istlod and I... we had a nice little thing going on the side. But in the end he was ostensibly faithful to his Queen. Otherwise, he would have accepted you into his family. Raised you as his own. But, the reality is you were merely the bastard son of the High King and an alchemist's acolyte. Since he already had an heir, he wasn't interested.”

Fjornir couldn't believe what he was hearing. “Even if this is true,” he said, “why tell me now? Why come _find_ me now? Why wait thirty-three years?!” He felt his face redden with anger.

Alva shrugged. “Guilt, I suppose. I may not have a beating heart, but I still have feelings.... Sometimes.” Her grin was unnerving. “And I had business that kept me for a long time in Morthal, to where I must return soon. And I suppose it's easier to find someone once they're famous. Who knew....” Her voice trailed off.

Fjornir's eyes narrowed. “If what you say is true....”

“You are the rightful High King of Skyrim, yes. At least, if the moot cares about pedigree more than the outcome of wars.” Alva folded her hands on her lap. Fjornir noticed that everything about her was graceful.

He sank back into his chair. “I fought in the war. For the Stormcloaks.”

Alva laughed. “The gods must be having a laugh at that one,” she said. “Perhaps they made you Dragonborn for a reason. Maybe they pitied you, because of me, because of who you are. Or maybe they wanted you to be King.”

He shook his head. “I'm no one. Dragonborn, yes. I've come to terms with that.” He ran his fingers over his thick beard. “Ulfric can have the throne. I don't want it.”

“Oh, I'm not saying you should take it. I merely thought you had the right to know who your birth parents are. And....” she looked away, her body movement suggesting she had something to add, but wasn't sure if she should.

“And?” Fjornir asked.

“Well,” she said, hesitant, “by birth, you are not only Dragonborn, you are the son of a King. Therefore....” She waited for Fjornir to see where she was going with her line of thinking. He just shook his head. “Your child, Fjornir. Your child has royal blood. Except for the adopted one, of course.” When she saw the confusion on her son's face, she continued. “I smelled your children. And your woman. And your werewolf guard.... Congratulations on the newborn, by the way. She smells... unique. Like you. The boy smells like your woman.” Alva could see the disgust in Fjornir's expression, and laughed. “Heightened senses,” she winked, pointing to her nose. “Don't worry, I'm not about to eat my own kin.”

Fjornir felt his stomach lurch. He wanted to run to his family, away from the vampire who was likely lying for some unknown reason about him and his family.

“Unfortunately,” she continued, “there is no way of proving any of this to anyone that would care to listen. You can believe what you want. I'm only saying, that your little girl could one day be Queen. It's up to you, or her, to make any claim.”

“If you have no proof of my heritage, the claim is useless,” Fjornir said.

Alva's gracile fingers ran down the length of her face. Her fingernails were unusually long. “Perhaps there is some sort of magic or... incantation that can determine the veracity of such a claim. Though without any other living blood relatives.... I doubt such a spell would do anything.”

“Then there isn't much point in having this conversation, is there?” Fjornir grew more annoyed.

Alva tented her fingers and pressed her fingertips together, slowly, in a steady flutter. “I'm sorry, perhaps I should never have come,” she said in a quiet voice.

Fjornir felt embarrassed, but he had a right to harbor ill feelings for the woman who may be his birth mother. She did have a point, though. He doubted his life would have been any better with a vampiric mother. He had a sudden urge to open up to her for reasons he could not explain. “I was a werewolf.”

The woman's eyes opened wide. “Really? I thought lycanthropy was a familial trait.”

“No. It's more... magical, I suppose. Similar to vampirism. I cured myself not long ago.”

Alva nodded, then the pair sat in awkward silence for a while.

“What about your parents? Where do they come from? And... why did you become a vampire?” Fjornir finally asked.

The woman smiled. “Dragonbridge. _Boring_ village. They ran the inn. Died of a fever when I was eighteen. I moved to Solitude then, looking for work. The King noticed me.... After you came along, he never spoke to me again. Perhaps his Queen found him out.... I eventually ended up in Morthal...,” Alva smiled at the memory of meeting Movarth, “where I gladly became a vampire after falling in love with one. After that, I traveled to Riften, to the orphanage, and have been in and around Hjaalmarch ever since.”

“Doing what, exactly?”

Alva was not sure how to answer. “Odd jobs for a wise old warrior.” She smiled.

Fjornir felt a sudden unease and decided not to ask about her business again. And to avoid ever visiting Morthal, if possible.

After more silence, Alva finally asked, “Are you happy, Fjornir? With your life now, your status as Dragonborn... your family?”

Her question threw Fjornir off guard, even if the answer was simple enough. “Yes, very much so.”

“Good. I'm glad.” Alva's smile was more warm and caring, that time.

–

 _I should write to him. Shouldn't I? Writing a letter isn't giving in to him...._ Lydia tossed and turned in her bed at the inn. Talking to Brynja did nothing for her insomnia, but her sister did encourage her to address her feelings instead of running from them.

“Dear Vilkas,” she composed the letter out loud, staring at the ceiling. “Sorry for fucking and running. I'm a coward. Hope you're able to sleep. I can't.” She groaned and covered her face with her palms. “Dear Vilkas, let's start over. You be the you before we....” She growled. “ _Grrraaahh!”_ She turned onto her stomach and whined. She wrapped her arms around the pillow and turned her head to the night table at the side of the bed. An inkwell, quill and paper sat waiting to be used. “Dear Vilkas,” her voice was a quiet mumble, “If I had only known....”

\--

Fjornir picked up his crying daughter and cradled and cooed her, but he arrived upstairs too late, and the baby's crying woke Eirin.

“You were gone a long while,” she said groggily.

Fjornir turned, smiled, then walked with Nehenarah and lay next to Eirin. For a while, he said nothing. There was too much to say. Not only did he want to – need to – tell Eirin about Alva, he felt an unstoppable urge to tell her all the things he had been keeping from her for the last few months.

He sighed, holding his daughter against his warm, bare chest. Speaking quietly, he said to Eirin, “I'm about to disclose to you a lot of things.... Some of which I kept from telling you during your pregnancy, only because I didn't want to upset you. Others... I should have told you long ago. And more yet that I've just discovered tonight. After I'm finished, do you promise not to yell? 'Narah needs her sleep, after all....”

Eirin was speechless. “Em... alllriiight....”

–

Lydia read her letter to Vilkas over and over again, deliberating whether not to actually send it to him. She planned on waiting a few days, reading it again, then waiting a few more, just to be sure this is how she truly felt. Her concentration was shot, having not slept much the past week, so she had to re-read the same sentence a few times before moving on.

“ _Dear Vilkas,_

_I've waited a long time to meet someone that I could actually see myself with for the long-haul. Most people just piss me off. I know you can relate...._

_I'm still not sure I'm ready for anything serious. You and I have been friends for such a long time, I wasn't really prepared for what happened between us. With Farkas... it was different. We were just friends with something... extra. I hope that makes sense. Please understand that he and I really are finished. He was never someone I could have been with forever. We're just too combative, the way you are with Aela sometimes._

_Anyway... I keep wondering if you had come to me years ago.... Did you feel this way years ago? I know, there's no sense wondering about 'what ifs', so I will try not to. But after that night with you... the night before I left... I realized something. About myself. What I really want.... I want someone like you, Vilkas. I can't explain it, because I still don't fully understand it all, but I just felt... right, with you. I haven't even slept, really, since I left. I think it's just guilt about leaving everything in Whiterun behind. I don't know. Am I rambling?_

_I guess the sum of it all is that I miss you. I realize that, now. For whatever it's worth, whatever it might mean for myself, I miss you. I don't want to go back to Whiterun just yet, but if you could sometime stop by Riverwood.... I guess what I mean is, it would be nice to see you._

_Also, please apologize to Fjornir for me._

_Lydia_ ”

The letter took two pieces of paper to finish, and at the end the words got smaller and smaller to save space. She was annoyed with herself for rambling. She was completely incapable of expressing her feelings well. She wanted to crumple the paper and throw it into the fire, but she stopped herself. _Just wait a few days,_ she said to herself. _Just wait, lose more sleep thinking about him, that's all._

“Bastard,” she said aloud. Vilkas had turned her into an obsessive wreck.

–

Eirin sat silent next to Fjornir, clinging to every word that came out of his mouth, not believing half of what he said, because it was just too much, too much all at once. When he stopped talking, she waited to make sure he was truly finished.

Fjornir stared at his wife. “That's all.” Nehenarah was sleeping contently in his arms.

Eirin realized he may be using their child as a sort of human shield. “Let me just...,” she closed her eyes, pinched the bridge of her nose, and breathed deeply. “Alright, so, werewolves really do exist, and you used to be a werewolf, but you're not anymore. You used to be with Aela, but you're not anymore. Our child is not a werewolf because it doesn't pass on that way. Our child however is basically a princess, and you're the son of High King Istlod and half-brother to the overthrown Torygg. Your mother is now a vampire. You were attacked by bandits sent by an elf in Windhelm because you hurt her business, and fought for the Stormcloaks. The elves dislike Ulfric. Windhelm would not be safe for us right now. You had a one-time thing with Lydia.... Did I miss anything?”

Fjornir then remembered one last thing. “I think I now understand one more thing Odahviing said about 'Narah.” Eirin waited in silence. “He said something about her fate being foretold, but he would never tell me what that fate was. Said it wasn't time yet, that I wasn't ready. That's all. I have no idea what he meant.”

Eirin sighed. “That's all....” She spun the rings on her finger, and had a sudden urge to meet Fjornir's honesty with her own. “Ralof kissed me,” she blurted out. “And then I kissed him.” She avoided eye contact with her husband.

Fjornir stared calmly at his wife. “When?”

“The day he was injured.... He came to the tent. He,” she cleared her throat and blinked back tears, “he came to tell me that....” She closed her eyes for a moment. “He never stopped loving me. Before that, though, he kissed me. That's when I thought he was... saying goodbye, in a way. Letting me go, because he knew I was pregnant, and happy with you. I think I told you that part....”

“Yes,” Fjornir said.

“And then, when we went to Riverwood, after he put those flowers on our doorstep.”

“You kissed him then?” Fjornir recalled her being upset. “Right before we left?”

Eirin nodded. “It was as if.... Like I couldn't help myself. He was instigating it, he really was. He refused to take his gift back, that bead, talking about how he knew I still loved him and that--” She stopped herself, wondering if she'd already said too much. She looked at Fjornir, who remained calm, and decided to go on. “He said that we belonged together. That time, it was I who kissed him, but I stopped myself right after, and that's when you saw me. Right before we left.” She looked down again. “I felt awful about kissing him. Both times. Sometimes I feel just thinking about him, even in passing, is a betrayal to you.” A tear rolled down her cheek.

“Do you still love him?”

She looked up at Fjornir. His calmness worried Eirin. “Yes.” She looked away again. “If not really him, then the memory of what he and I had. I don't know if that will ever go away.”

“Probably not,” he said.

More tears rolled down Eirin's cheeks, unchecked by any caress of her husband's hand. Fjornir felt his own eyes filling with tears.

“Do you still love _me_?” Fjornir asked.

Eirin looked up, shocked by his question. That he had to ask at all hurt her, but she understood. They had kept secrets from one another, which is never the right thing to do in a relationship. She wondered if he was truly not angry, but rather worried.

The words Eirin said were truthful, and came easily to her mind. “More and more, every day.”

Fjornir smiled. A tear flowed down his cheek, but Eirin wiped it away before she kissed him.

–

Vilkas opened the letter he received from the courier. It was short, but said quite a lot.

_Dear Vilkas,_

_I can't sleep._

_I miss you._

_I'm in Riverwood._

_Lydia_


	22. Just Fine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone's gonna be just fine.

“What's troubling you, Vilkas?” Fjornir asked his Companion friend and new guard of Breezehome. The man had been moping around lately.

Vilkas refrained from telling Fjornir the larger of his two problems. “Kodlak's final teaching. I think he was right about beastblood and Sovngarde. I...,” he sighed, “I should have asked you to cure me when we were all at Ysgramor's Tomb the first time.” The look on his face showed immense regret. “I wish to cleanse myself that I might know glory in the afterlife.... Would you come with me to the Tomb, again?”

Fjornir chewed his lunch. He thought about the rotting witch's heads, double-sacked in the basement of his home. He hoped, even though decaying, that the heads would still break the curse once thrown into the sacred flame. “Sure, I will help you cure yourself. What about Farkas and Aela?”

“They're still not interested.”

“Alright then, just us.”

“I would be honored for you to accompany me, Harbinger,” Vilkas said, humbly.

Fjornir smirked. “Enough with that, Vilkas. We're friends. 'Sir Dragonborn the Harbinger' will do just fine.” Fjornir kept a straight face for a moment, but then nearly spat out his mead when he started to laugh.

Vilkas chuckled. “Any more titles and we might have to start calling you a god.”

“ _Ugh_ ,” Fjornir said, finishing his lunch. “Let me go tell Eirin. Haming can help her while we're gone. If we leave now, we'll reach Nightgate by sundown.”

–

“It's just some bleeding, nothing dire. It's stopped, now. The child still lives.” The healer spoke to Ulfric outside his private chambers where Silda was resting. “But...,” the healer motioned for Ulfric to step away from the bedroom door, and lowered his voice, “I suggest that she take to her bed rest immediately. Not all day, she should still have some light activity, but she has been exhausting herself. And....” The healer looked hesitant.

“And what?” Ulfric urged him on impatiently.

“My King, I must suggest that she refrain from further sexual activity until the child is born.”

Ulfric grinned. “The Queen does have a voracious appetite, especially lately, but I've been quite gentle with her since she has been with child.”

The healer said nothing, but he knew the woman was not being careful in her relations. He smiled. “Alright, then. Just remind her to take much rest from now until after the child is born.”

\--

“So, Lydia, hmm?” Fjornir said to Vilkas while they rode north.

“What?”

“Eirin seems to think that you're in love with Lydia.” Fjornir turned to his friend and smiled.

Vilkas's face showed no emotion.

“Any idea about where she's run off to? Or if she'll be back?” Fjornir asked.

Vilkas let out a long, drawn-out sigh. “She's in Riverwood.”

Fjornir looked over at Vilkas. “And you know this how?”

“We've... been writing letters.”

“ _You?_ Writing love letters?” Fjornir laughed.

“I never said we were writing _love letters_ ,” Vilkas replied.

“What about Farkas?”

“What _about_ Farkas?” Vilkas's tone was snide.

Fjornir's eyebrow raised. “I see,” he said. “This little trip we're taking wouldn't have anything to do with her, would it?”

It took a while for Vilkas to answer with a “Maybe.”

Fjornir laughed quietly.

After a long while, Vilkas changed the subject to something very much not about him. “Fjornir, you remember how I suggested we move my room downstairs and the children's room upstairs in Breezehome?”

“Yes?”

“Well, I think I have a better idea.” Vilkas smiled.

–

“This would be our bedroom,” Fjornir said to Eirin. “The children could have Kodlak's old room, downstairs, where the rest of the Companions sleep.”

“But, Fjornir, surrounded by warriors.... There are weapons _everywhere!_ ” Eirin gestured to the weapon racks on the walls.

Fjornir chuckled. “We can work on the child-proofing. But think about it. We will have Breezehome still, but living here in Jorrvaskr, we'd be surrounded by Companions. For now, at least, I'd feel a lot better about leaving on missions and quests with you here surrounded by endless protection.”

“Being _surrounded_ is an accurate description. This lacks all the privacy of Breezehome....”

Fjornir smiled, took Eirin's hand into his, and gave it a gentle squeeze. He shut the massive doors to the Harbinger's bedroom and locked them. “No one will bother you if these doors are closed. Everyone has agreed to keep their eyes on the children, especially Tilma. She won't let them get away with any nonsense, that's for sure.” Fjornir pulled Eirin closer to him and flashed his highly seductive smile. “What do you say, hmm?”

Eirin laughed lightly. She knew he was trying to convince her with his unavoidable allure. She gripped his shirt with her fingers, smiled up at her husband, and looked him in the eyes as she deliberated. She leaned in close, teasingly brushing her lips across his. She spoke with a roughness to her deepened voice. “Even with those doors closed, they could still hear me cry out your name.” She grinned.

Fjornir laughed and kissed his wife. “That didn't stop you in Breezehome.”

Nehenarah began to cry. Eirin gave Fjornir one last, sensual kiss before seeing to her daughter.

“Was that a yes?” Fjornir asked.

“No,” Eirin answered, offering the infant her breast.

“Was that a _no_?”

“No,” she smiled.

\--

“Lydia?”

A familiar voice called to her from the main room of the inn. She smiled, jumped up from the chair and opened the door. Her smile disappeared instantly. “Farkas!? What are you.... How did you know I was here?”

Farkas walked into her rented room and shut the door behind him. “I saw one of Vilkas's letters.” He turned and stared at her.

“You had no right, Farkas.” She crossed her arms over her chest. Farkas walked closer to her, too close for Lydia's comfort. She backed away, eventually backing into the closed door. She found the door handle but Farkas grabbed her hand to stop her from opening the door. She stared up at him menacingly. “What do you _want_?”

The large man pinned Lydia against the door with his massive, steel-clad body. Lydia stood defiant, staring up at him, showing no emotion but annoyance. Farkas leaned down to kiss Lydia, but she turned her head to the side. She felt as if she were about to explode. Something changed within her over the last few weeks. She no longer enjoyed feeling dominated by Farkas. Rather, she was reminded of the time when she was young, small, and physically overpowered. Back then she could not defend herself.

No longer.

Lydia gripped Farkas's right wrist with her left hand. With her right hand she caught Farkas's throat and shoved, effectively jabbing at his windpipe, sending him stumbling back, away from her. She immediately opened the door and ran into the main inn hall.

Farkas walked out after her, rubbing his throat. “First my nose, now my throat. What is it with you and maiming me?”

“ _Why... are... you... here...,_ ” Lydia said, her voice as grim and ominous as an angry goddess.

“You,” he said, still rubbing his throat, “and I, we're not finished.”

“Yes, we are.”

“Give me another chance. I can be the man you need.”

“No, you can't.”

Orgnar watched the scene unfolding before him. He gripped a frying pan, just in case he needed to help the woman.

“What changed so suddenly? You're a completely different person!” Farkas's voice rose to a shout.

Lydia walked up to Farkas. She leaned in to him, staring daggers. “I woke up.” She then turned and stomped toward the inn door.

“Lydia, don't walk away.”

“Did you not hear one word I said?” she shouted at him without turning around, then opened the door and stormed into the night, heading towards Brynja's house.

Farkas walked after her. “ _Forget_ you!” he shouted. “I'll be fine! Because _obviously_ men like me _never_ sleep alone at night, right!?”

Lydia stopped walking, turned, and walked back toward Farkas. “You read that letter!?”

“Yeah,” he said, “and others. How long has that been going on for, anyway? Hmm!? Before or after _that night!?”_

“Go home, Farkas.” She turned to leave again but Farkas grabbed her forearm, tugged her back to him, and forced a kiss onto her lips.

Lydia managed to struggle out of his grip, then landed her fist directly onto his nose. She walked away, calmer now. “Tell Tilma I'm sorry for making her tend to your broken nose. Again.”


	23. My Special One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just when you really start to love someone...

“But it's too early, I'm not due for another half-month,” Brynja protested. Her water had broke while taking a walk alongside the river.

“You have an impatient child, that's all.” Gerdur was the first to spot Brynja looking distressed. “I'll help you get to your bed.”. She wrapped her arm around Brynja and helped her walk.

Hod ran to find Ralof who was behind his house, fishing.

“Hilde, the baby's coming early!” Frodnar, Gerdur and Hod's son said to the old healer. She gathered some supplies and made her way to Brynja and Ralof's house.

–

“I have to admit, Fjornir, I do enjoy living here with the Companions,” Eirin said as she ate her lunch at the banquet table. Nehenarah was cradled against her chest by a swath of fabric.

“I had a feeling you might.” The Dragonborn smiled. “What about you, Haming? I know you've been out with Aela quite a bit, lately.”

“Yep! I'm getting real quick with my bow, now!” Haming jumped up and down in his seat and tossed a lump of cheese into his mouth.

Fjornir chuckled. He was pleased with the idea that Vilkas had. Breezehome would remain owned by Fjornir and his family, but could be used as a guesthouse for visitors, or even – as Fjornir said suggestively to Eirin – a place to “get away”, occasionally. But Vilkas's idea ended up having an additional motive. Once Fjornir and his family were settled in Jorrvaskr, Vilkas left for Riverwood.

“I'm happy for Vilkas and Lydia,” Eirin said. “They were both so incredibly unhappy for a long time. Then Vilkas started getting all of those letters,” Eirin smiled.

“The transformation really was astounding,” said Fjornir. “I think those two will be really happy together.”

“I hope so.” Eirin drank honeywater from a goblet. “Did you know that Lydia and Brynja are sisters?”

“Ha! No, she never said. _”_ Fjornir smiled. _“_ Makes sense, though. They're both... combative. And strong.”

–

“I can't,” Brynja cried.

“Sure you can. Just a few more pushes, then this will all be over.” Lydia sat next to her pained sister on the bed, holding her hand and stroking her hair.

Brynja was exhausted, but the contractions would not stop, and the child was still within her.

Lydia looked up at Hilde with a worried look. The healer walked to Brynja's side and ran her hands over her naked, sweaty abdomen. Then again, she slid her palms across the taught skin. Lydia saw a frown cross the old woman's mouth. “What is it?” she asked.

Hilde continued to feel with her palms, pressing lightly, as Brynja winced in pain and cried out with the onset of another contraction. “Don't push, Brynja.”

“W-what? Why not?” she said, weakly.

Hilde set her mouth into a neutral expression and looked at the laboring woman. “The child is not in the correct position. If you deliver as is, you put the both of you in danger.”

–

“What do you mean, _cut her open?”_ Ralof spat back at Hilde.

“It's been done before, Ralof. Gerdur herself had to do the same with her cow.”

“A _cow?”_ Ralof looked to his sister, then back at Hilde. “My wife is now a _cow.”_

“It's the same procedure, brother,” Gerdur said. “My cow lived, and she's had two calves since, the natural way.”

Ralof paced back in forth outside of his front door.

“I need you to decide quickly, Ralof. Your wife is in distress, as the child may be.” Hilde said in a stern voice.

Ralof paced some more, smothering his face with his palms, running his fingers through his hair.

“And if you _don't_ do this?” he asked.

“They could both die,” Hilde said.

Ralof massaged his forehead with his fingers, then abruptly turned to Hilde. “If you have to make a choice, Hilde, save my wife. Save my _wife_....” Tears were welling in his eyes.

Hilde nodded, then re-entered Ralof's home.

Gerdur followed, but turned back. “Are you coming?” she asked Ralof.

The man frowned, not sure he could handle the sound of his wife screaming. He turned to enter the house, but paused. “Wait,” he said. He looked up at Gerdur, his eyes shining. “Eirin lives in Whiterun!”

Gerdur shook her head. “Why are you thinking about Eirin?”

Ralof grasped his sister's shoulders tightly. “She's a _Healer,_ Gerdur!” He ran to go find someone, anyone, who could ride to Whiterun and ask for Eirin's help, just in case they needed it. He found Sven. He told the young man what was happening, and he agreed to ride on Ralof's horse to summon her. He was immediately astride the fast gelding and galloping east, around the bend toward Whiterun.

–

Eirin rode Fjornir's horse as fast as the stallion would go with Sven riding in front of her. Night fell as they entered the village. Eirin ran ahead of Sven to Ralof's house. The door was wide open. She ran inside, finding her way to the bedroom. She nearly ran into Gerdur. The woman's hands and forearms were stained bright red.

“I'm here,” Eirin said. “What can I do?”

An infant's cries were her only answer. Hilde held the newborn, wrapped in clean linens, in her arms. Eirin looked at the bed. The sheets were soaked in blood, and Brynja lay still, her eyes closed. A hand landed on Eirin's shoulder, and she turned to see Lydia.

“It's too late,” the woman said, her eyes red from crying.

Eirin stared wide-eyed at the horror that filled the bedroom. She recalled the mess that Ralof's beaten body had made—that was nothing compared to this. She thought Brynja's entire body must have bled out.

Gerdur finished washing her hands and walked over to Eirin. “The cut was clean, I stitched her back up, and she was fine.” Her voice was quiet. “But she started to bleed from somewhere inside.... She left very quickly.”

Eirin felt her throat closing. She walked over to the bloody mess on the bed, and held her hands to Brynja's abdomen. A soft yellow glow emerged. She continued for a long time as the others milled about, cleaning the mess, and caring for the crying child. When she felt dizzy and weak at the knees, she stopped, and took several steps back.

Brynja was gone.

Eirin nearly collapsed, but was caught by someone. She was led to a chair. When she looked up, she saw Vilkas. He had barely known Brynja, but his heart hurt for Lydia. He had been crying, too. Eirin then overheard the older woman talking to Gerdur.

“We have to find a wetnurse,” the woman said.

A light lit up inside Eirin's mind. “I can do it,” she said. Gerdur and the older woman turned to her. “I had my own child not long ago. I'm still producing milk.” In fact, her breasts ached from not feeding her own daughter in too long.

“You would do this?” Gerdur asked Eirin.

Eirin was not surprised that Gerdur was a tad shocked. “Of course,” Eirin said. “I actually need to nurse soon.” She grimaced as she touched her swollen breasts.

The older woman walked the infant over to Eirin and handed the bundle to her.

“Thank you,” Gerdur said, quietly.

Eirin nodded, and smiled softly. She looked around the room. “Where's Ralof?”

–

Gerdur helped Eirin, still weak, walk to where Ralof was.

The man was standing in White River, facing west. The water reached his upper thighs. His blood-stained light hide summer clothing was soaked through.

Eirin sat on the riverbank where she could look at Ralof. Gerdur staked a torch into the earth to give the pair light, then left. Eirin cradled Ralof's son in her arms. The exhausted infant slept soundly.

“What's his name?” Eirin asked.

Ralof stood silent for a few moments. “We never decided on a boy's name,” he said.

Eirin looked at the newborn. “He looks just like you. And her. A true mix of the both of you.”

More silence. “You were too late,” he said.

Eirin frowned. “She's in Sovngarde now, feasting with her fellow fallen Stormcloaks.”

“She did not die in a battle, Eirin.”

The Healer peered at the baby boy. “Did she not?” she said in a delicate voice. “I can't think of a more valiant death, Ralof. Your son is perfect. Brynja gave her life for him.”

Ralof remained a statue in the flowing water.

“I offered to be your son's wetnurse, since I'm still nursing anyway. Is that alright with you?”

For the first time since Eirin sat down, Ralof turned and looked at her, then at his son. “Brynjarr. His name is Brynjarr.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Title and immense amount of feels inspired by Perfume Genius “Sister Song”, and scene completely inspired by Peter Gabriel “I Grieve”. I hate myself right now and I'm shaking.]


	24. Falling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some lives, they crumble....

“How is he?” Fjornir asked Eirin as she crawled into their bed in Breezehome.

“The same,” she said. “I'm glad he's here with us in Whiterun. And I'm glad we kept this house. It would be inconvenient to have him stay at Jorrvaskr.”

Nehenarah made her happy gurgling noises when she saw her mother. Eirin took her daughter from Fjornir's arms. She was hungry.

“Do you have enough for both the children?” Fjornir glanced at Eirin's breasts. They were still laden with milk, and Fjornir enjoyed how much bigger they were now.

“Yes, plenty. I was meant to have twins, after all,” she said.

Brynjarr slept contently in a bassinet Fjornir had built for the two infants. Ralof slept in Lydia's old room, down the hall.

“I think he'd rather be in Riverwood, chopping wood all day,” Eirin said, referring to Ralof. “He would have been just as happy for me to take the boy and leave him behind to mope alone in that house.”

“Gerdur would not have allowed him to do so,” Fjornir said.

“No, you're right. But it took the both of us and Lydia to to convince him to come with us.”

Fjornir leaned over and kissed Eirin's shoulder and neck. His hand reached up to cup her cheek and urged her to face him. He had tears in his eyes. “I don't know what I would have done if you had died, _Dyra_.” He kissed her lips with unexpected urgency. Eirin's hands were occupied, holding her daughter. She gave in to his forceful kiss, and returned in kind.

Eirin had only given birth three months ago, and the two had not been intimate since before then. Physical need combined with the idea that Eirin could have died drove Fjornir nearly mad. He needed her, immediately. Mindful of his nursing daughter, Fjornir was satisfied by kissing his wife, feeling her lips against his, caressing her tongue with his own. Her lips were as soft as ever. He could have kissed her for hours.

Nehenarah's hunger was sated, and she let go of Eirin's breast. Eirin held her to her shoulder and stood, then walked around the room, checking on the sleeping Brynjarr, and patting Nehenarah on her back. Fjornir watched his wife be the amazing mother that she was. After Eirin laid her daughter in the second partition of the bassinet, she walked back over to her bed, and slipped off her dress, under which she wore nothing.

Fjornir smiled. Her body was as shapely as ever, perhaps even a little more. He loved every bit of it.

Eirin kneeled before him and kissed him with fervor. She needed him as much as he did her.

Fjornir lowered her onto her back. They kissed again, grinding their bodies against one another. Fjornir's hand lowered to between Eirin's legs, tentatively exploring.

Suddenly Eirin broke their kiss and looked at Fjornir.

“What's wrong?” he asked.

She blushed. “We... we have to be quiet. Not just for the children, but....”

Fjornir smiled. “Of course,” he said, then spoke in a whisper, “quiet as a mouse.” He kissed her again. “A really,” he kissed her neck, “really,” her breast, “really,” her stomach, “amorous,” her thigh, “mouse,” and her other thigh, and then entered her with his tongue.

Eirin jumped at the sensation, and giggled. “Crazy Mouse,” she said, smiling. She bit her lip to quiet herself. Fjornir pleasured her hungrily. In no time, Eirin's body was shuddering in waves of pleasure. Her back arched and mouth opened in a silent cry. Her fingers clung to Fjornir's long brown hair, and her hips bucked against his face.

When she stilled, Fjornir moved up beside her, and they kissed again, as ardently as before. Eirin gave Fjornir's shoulder a gentle push, and he lay on his back. Eirin shifted her body lower. She kissed Fjornir's muscular chest, then made a trail of light kisses toward his waist. When Eirin's mouth found his aching manhood, Fjornir stifled a moan. Eirin found him too large to take much of him in, and mostly used her tongue to pleasure him.

Fjornir couldn't take more of her teasing. He needed her. He pulled her up to him for another forceful kiss. Eirin slowly lowered herself onto her husband, testing the sensations, unsure how sex would feel so soon after childbirth with someone so large. When she felt no pain, she let her hesitations go, and slowly rocked her body against Fjornir's. Their slow pace extended their love-making. Their mouths muffled one another's cries.

Fjornir wrapped his arms around Eirin's waist and lowered her onto her back. Still kissing, Fjornir pressed his body against hers, moving inside her slower still. Eirin missed his weight above her. The sensation of Fjornir's lips on hers only added to her pleasure. She felt him deeper now, still moving slowly. She wanted to let go completely and cry out Fjornir's name, the names of the Divines and Princes and any other holy name she could think of. The caress of his tongue against hers sent shivers deep within her. Her husband was torturing her with his slow caresses. She never wanted it to stop.

–

“I can't believe _Fjornir_ is your new Harbinger,” Lydia said. She and Vilkas put down their bags in Vilkas's bedroom in Jorrvaskr. She felt odd, being back there, with Farkas likely right next door.

“Why not? He's an exemplary warrior, aside from being the Dragonborn.” He helped Lydia out of her travel clothes. “You never liked him much, did you?”

Lydia grimaced. “Maybe I'll grow to like him more, no longer working for him.”

Vilkas smiled. When he began to kiss Lydia's neck, she pulled away.

“I don't think we should, Vilkas. Not here....” She turned her head to look at his bedroom door.

“He's not here,” Vilkas said.

“He's not? Are you sure?”

Vilkas gave a nod. “I asked. He's up north somewhere with Ria and some new whelps.”

Lydia was thankful for the relative privacy of Jorrvaskr. With Farkas not here and no one else within ear-shot, she wouldn't have to contain her excitement as much as she had been at the Sleeping Giant Inn. Though she was distraught at her sister's death, being with Vilkas comforted her, took her mind off of the pain. She wanted to fully enjoy him again for the first time since their night together in the Bannered Mare.

Vilkas stripped down to his loincloth and sat back in his small bed. “I'm going to have to get a bigger bed,” he said, smiling wryly.

Lydia grinned. She wriggled out of the rest of her clothes and proceeded to pounce on Vilkas.

–

Ralof stared at the candles on his night table. It was hot in that small room, and he lay in bed nude. He had been sleeping so much during the days that he lay awake most nights, dozing on and off.

He had been checking in on Brynjarr occasionally, holding him, rocking him back and forth, even singing to him. The singing had surprised Eirin, since she had never heard him sing before. She told Ralof that he had a pleasant voice.

When he was awake, Ralof often day-dreamed about his time with the Stormcloaks, with Brynja, with Ulfric. Most of his thoughts stayed on Ulfric – they were comparatively less painful. He had heard about his marriage to a woman named Silda, a veteran Stormcloak. He figured it was the very same Silda that had left Brynja, but he never told Brynja what he knew. Riverwood was as always a secluded town, and Ralof was content to let Brynja not hear the news about her ex-lover. _Well, she knows now_ , he had thought. He often wondered if Brynja really was in Sovngarde, feasting with her friends and loved ones, running in green fields, conversing with gods. He hoped to meet her again one day.

That night, he lay awake wondering if Ulfric had his own family now, what being High King was like, if Ulfric still thought of him and much as he thought of Ulfric. Nothing else crossed his mind that night, only thoughts Ulfric. He fell asleep, comforted by the memories.

–

“Well?” Ulfric asked the healer.

The old man walked solemnly up to the King. “Stillborn, my King. My sincerest apologies....” The healer frowned.

Ulfric felt his face turn hot with rage, and then his heart sank into his stomach. “Was it a boy?”

“Yes, my King.”

His large hand covered his eyes. “And the Queen?”

“Resting. She will be fine. I see no reason why she could not carry another child to term.”

Ulfric let a long, drawn-out sigh. He passed the healer and entered his chambers.

Silda lay in their bed, being tended to by handmaidens, nursemaids and the midwife. They stared at Ulfric upon his entry.

“Leave us,” he ordered.

Ulfric sat at Silda's side as the women cleared the room. Silda's smile was weak, hiding her sorrow. “I am so sorry, Ulfric.” Her voice was quiet. She reached for his hand, which he tentatively received.

“Are you well?” he asked.

Silda nodded. “Well enough, I suppose....” She frowned. “It was a boy.”

“Yes,” said Ulfric. He took a dry piece of linen and dabbed Silda's damp forehead. He then leaned forward and kissed it, then cupped her cheek with his palm. “We'll try again, when you are well.”

Ulfric squeezed Silda's hand, then rose to leave.

“Where are you going?” Silda asked.

He turned back toward his Queen. “I have to talk to Galmar about some trouble in the Gray Quarter.”


	25. Even In Death

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ralof copes with the loss of Brynja.

“ _Ralof,” a soft voice called to him. He tossed and turned. Visions of horrible things, of war, death, dragons and screaming children swept through his mind's eye. “Ralof,” the soft voice called again. He was fighting an ugly Imperial. An axe burrowed into the man's shoulder. “Ralof.” Still on the battlefield, Ralof looked up, expecting a Divine or some ethereal god to be hovering above him, but he saw only blue sky._

“Dinok! _” The shout came from high above. It thundered, and shook the ground below Ralof's feet. A darkness blocked out the sun. Ralof searched the sky, but saw nothing. Again, the sun was shaded by an expansive darkness. And then Ralof saw it – a dragon. Black, shining and enormous, its wings spanned the width of a palace._

“ _Dragon!” Ralof shouted._

“Sii!” _shouted the dragon._

“ _Ralof,” the soft voice called from the ether again._

_The skies brightened, and the dragon was gone. Ralof felt warmth and comfort wrap itself around him like a lover's arms. He felt the brush of soft tall grass and blooming flowers against his fingertips. Over the horizon he saw a rainbow form, then two more arching above it, fading as they reached higher into the heavens. He felt a warm breeze against his naked skin, tickle his neck, and run down the length of his back. He thought that he must be in Sovngarde._

“ _Ralof!” the soft voice called to him with urgency. The sky began to grow brighter, too bright. Ralof shielded his eyes from the growing blast. The light enveloped him and caressed his skin until he saw nothing but white._

“Ralof!” the voice called again, waking him from his dream. He lay on his torso, hugging the pillow beneath his head. He turned his head to the small window where the rising sun shone brightly over the mountain, and had woken him from his slumber.

“Ralof!” again, the soft, yet urgent voice called out in a harsh whisper. Ralof sat up, and looked around the room, but saw no one. His bedroom door was closed. He slowly rubbed his sleepy eyes. When he opened them, he saw a blue-white light appear and disappear in front of him. Startled, he jumped back on the bed, pressing his body against the wall. He thought he heard a whisper - a soft, dreamy voice speaking wordless noises into his mind. He felt an unexplainable comforting warmth, and tears welled in his eyes.

“B'?” he asked no one. His voice was shaky, quiet, and laden with hopeful uncertainty.

Then, suddenly, the comforting warmth and whispering voice was no more.

From the next room, he heard an infant cry.

Cautiously, he stood, wrapped a bed sheet around his waist, and walked down the hall to Eirin and Fjornir's room. He stared at the door handle, not sure what he would see on the other side should he open the door. He waited a few moments, listening to the infant cry. He didn't know which one it was, his son or Eirin's daughter. When he heard footsteps, he knocked. A moment later, Eirin was smiling at him from across the doorway. She motioned for him to come in, and he did. She walked over to the bassinet and picked up the crying Brynjarr, then handed him to Ralof. He held his son against his bare chest, closed his eyes, and hummed.

Eirin gently grasped Ralof's upper arm as she watched Brynjarr calm. Ralof opened his eyes and looked at Eirin. Her brown eyes glowed like molten bronze in the dim candle light. She was smiling at him, but Ralof felt nothing but sadness. Even Eirin's eternally kind eyes were no use in cheering him. He frowned, and nodded back toward the doorway, indicating for Eirin to follow him. They walked toward his bedroom, and closed the door.

Ralof kissed his son's head before speaking to Eirin. “I saw something,” he said.

“Saw something?” Eirin asked.

“In my room, just a moment ago. I heard a voice calling my name in my dreams, and then I still heard it while I was awake. I felt...,” he looked passed Eirin into empty space, “warmness....” He turned from Eirin and sat on his bed. “When it left,” he continued, “I heard a baby cry. Brynjarr started crying.”

Eirin sat in a chair across from the bed. “You think it was her, don't you?”

Ralof nodded slowly.

Eirin bit her lip. “Perhaps her spirit is... staying around a while, to see you and her son. Especially her son. She never really got to meet him, I guess....”

“No,” he said. “Gerdur was...,” he let out a choking, sobbing sigh, “Gerdur was sewing her back up. Hilde was cleaning Brynjarr. B' started bleeding.... She left, just left.” His hand caressed Brynjarr's small head.

“I would want my spirit to stay here, too, if I had died. At least for a little while...”

Ralof looked up at Eirin, and then down again, staring at his lap. “I wish I were waiting for her in Sovngarde.”

–

“When are you going to let me marry you?” Vilkas asked Lydia. Her head lay on his chest. They snuggled close in his small bed in Jorrvaskr.

“Why would you want to marry me?” she asked.

Vilkas chuckled. “You know why,” he said.

Lydia's fingers nested in Vilkas's thick, dark chest hair. “We don't need to marry.”

“We don't need sweetrolls either, but I'd eat them all day if I could.”

Lydia laughed, but then frowned. “You know how I feel about having children, Vilkas.”

“Yes, yes, I'm aware. But marriage does not mean we need to have children.”

“Then what's the point of marriage?” Lydia asked.

Vilkas was somewhat hurt by her unintended curtness. “You shouldn't be afraid to love me, Lydia.”

Lydia sat up and looked down at Vilkas. “I'm not,” she said defiantly.

Vilkas sat up, too. “I think you are,” he said before taking one of her hands in both of his.

Lydia wanted to run, run away to some secluded place, to avoid this confrontation of feelings. In person, self-exposure was much, much different than in letters. But when Vilkas kissed her, she calmed, though only a little. Vilkas then moved his mouth to her ear. When she felt his warm breath on her neck, she felt like a fox being stared down a rabbit. The rabbit wanted nothing more than to love her, but she was worried she would accidentally rip the rabbit's throat open with her teeth. She waited to see what the rabbit would do next.

“I died inside, every day that I waited for you,” he whispered. “Don't be afraid to love me.” He kissed her neck. “I have always loved you. I always will.”

–

“Jarl Sorli!” a guard came running into Highmoon Hall, panting when he stopped before the Jarl and her throne.

“Yes, what is it?” Sorli asked the guard. Pactur, her husband, stepped between the guard and his wife.

“There's,” he paused to catch his breath, “a vampire. I saw her, in the graveyard, dressed in black, using some... some kind of magic.”

“Magic? Since when do vampires use magic?...” Morthal's new Jarl asked.

“I don't know, Jarl Sorli, but she tried to use it on me when I saw her. I ran, fast as I could, straight here.”

The Jarl played with a tress of hair while contemplating the matter. “Could be a necromancer.” Her lips pursed and finger continued to twirl her hair while she deliberated. “Pactur?” she called to her husband.

“Hmm?” he asked, walking up beside her.

“Bring me some ink and paper. I think I know of someone who can help us.”

–

Ulfric sat in his private chambers, staring at a blank piece of paper. He wondered what to write to Ralof, or if he should even write to him at all. _Ralof_ _is_ _married_ , he said to himself _. I_ _a_ _m married._ _Silda is with child again. I am High King._ _I am High King..._ He scowled, thrust his large body up from his chair and stormed out of his chambers.

–

“Morthal, isn't that where your... where Alva lives?” Eirin asked Fjornir. He had received a letter from the Jarl of Morthal requesting his aid in dispatching a local necromancer causing problems.

“Yes.” Fjornir did not want to go there. When Alva spoke of the village, he had gotten a chill, and wished to avoid the place altogether.

Eirin could see his discomfort and wrapped her arms around him. “You don't have to go, _Bear._ You're no one's servant.”

The Dragonborn looked down at his wife, a frown developing across his lips. “Aren't I, though?” He kissed her, then turned to his sleeping daughter. Nehenarah was now six months old, and Brynjarr, three. “Is Ralof any better?”

“No,” replied Eirin. “He seems lost, like a child, not knowing what to do without guidance. He...,” she frowned at her conversation with Ralof several months ago, “he wishes he were dead.”

Fjornir turned quickly to Eirin. He knew that she was regretting reviving him that day in the tent. “He has a son, now.”

“But he wouldn't have.... If he had died that day, he would have never.... Brynja would be alive. If...,” her body began to tremble, “I think he despises me, for bringing him back from the dead.”

“He doesn't despise you, _Dyra_. Believe me, I know....” Having Eirin's ex-lover live with them while Eirin nursed his son was awkward, to say the least. He wrapped his arms around his wife. “If there's anyone he despises, it's me. For more than one reason....” He sighed. “I never told you, or him, about the choice he had to make in Sovngarde, and the consequences that came with it.” He lifted Eirin's chin to look her in the eyes. “When he chose to return his soul to his body, he relinquished his right to return to Sovngarde.”

“What?” Eirin asked, confused.

“His soul, once gone from here, will return to the Dreamsleeve, not Sovngarde.”

Eirin stared at her husband. “He'll... never meet her again?”

Fjornir shook his head.

Her thoughts turned immediately to that day in the tent when she sent bolts of lightning into Ralof's lifeless body. Eirin buried her face in Fjornir's clothed chest, her fingers clinging to the fabric. Even in death, she realized she would never be with Ralof again. That part of her life was officially, completely over.

–

“ _Ralof,” a voice called to him from inside a cave. The lofty voice echoed against the rock and carried out to him. He held a torch and an axe, and slowly entered the darkness. He crept further into the earth, passing glowing mushrooms and baby frostspiders. “Ralof,” the voice repeated, again echoing through the natural tunnel. The voice made the torch flame whip about, threatening to extinguish it. Ralof saw a light ahead, and picked up his pace. “Ralof!” the voice called again, almost sounding excited. As he approached the light within the cave, the tunnel expanded into a large, round room. Sun shined into the cave, causing green life to grow and thrive. “Ralof!” the voice spoke his name and then giggled. Ralof walked cautiously through the green brush. Beyond the growth was a rock ledge, also bathed in sunlight. Below the ledge was a sleeping brown bear. He gripped his axe. “Ralof...” He approached the bear, ready to defend himself against attack. The bear slowly raised its head, then pushed itself up on its four enormous feet. Ralof heard it groan, waking its sleepy body. The bear lumbered away from Ralof, deeper into the cave. He turned back to the bear's sleeping area where he saw a large blue fabric. He walked further, approaching the ledge. When he looked down at the fabric, he saw the silver bear head emblem of the Stormcloaks. The silver began to shimmer. “Ralof,” he heard again. The shimmering became brighter, and started to glow, but then quickly faded. Ralof heard the snap of a twig behind him. When he turned back to the green brush, the beams of sunlight exploded into a white-hot light._

Ralof bolted upright in bed. This time the light in his dream was not triggered by sunlight creeping into his room. The night was still black, and the room, dark. And then he saw it, a quick flash of light in the corner of his eye. He watched the room for further lights. In front of him, he thought he saw a faint shimmer. “Ralof,” the same voice called to him again. He waited. A few moments later, the shimmering reappeared, and became denser, brighter. Ralof watched the light change shape, and eventually took on the appearance of a shimmering, watery human figure. It began to have the appearance of a solid mass. Ralof saw a face, and then a woman's body.

He stood. “B'?” Ralof asked, as he did months before, with a terrified hope.

“Ralof,” the apparition said.

“Is... is it you?” he asked, inching forward toward the soft blue-white glow. The apparition became more human-like. Brynja's face was then staring back at him.

“Yes, Ralof,” the apparition repeated.

Ralof reached out to his wife, but his fingers gripped nothing but air. Where his hand landed, the blue-white glow dissipated. He retracted his hand quickly, and the misty arm which he attempted to grasp re-materialized.

“I'm dead, Ralof,” she said, “we cannot touch.”

“But how...,” he held his fingertips to the space just before Brynja's misty cheek. “Are you not in Sovngarde?” His voice was a whisper.

When the apparition spoke, lips did not move. Ralof was hearing her voice in his head. “Not yet, Ralof, but they are calling to me.” Brynja raised her hand to Ralof's, their fingers crossing planes, never touching. “I have been trying to appear to you, in the in-between.”

“I heard you in my dreams,” Ralof said.

“Yes,” she said.

Ralof began to cry. “I miss you.” His hand hovered over her body, moving from her cheek down her arm, aching to hold her hand. “I wish to be with you.”

“You must live, Ralof. You named our son for me.... _Live_ for him. Live for _me_.” Brynja's light began to fade.

“Wait! Please, don't go.... I can't do this without you.” Tears ran down his cheeks.

“You can!” Her ethereal voice lifted high in his mind. “You will do well by him, Ralof! But do not sacrifice your happiness for him, my dearest friend. Find your happiness.”

Ralof frowned, letting the tears stream down his scruffy chin and neck.

“Go to him,” she said, faintly. “Go to him....” Her last words were but an echo in Ralof's mind.

“Wait!” Ralof attempted to grab the intangible. Before the apparition faded, Ralof saw Brynja smile. She was gone. His outstretched fingers curved into a fist. “No!” His cry was fierce, desperate, angry.

His mind turned off. From the corner of his eye he saw a chair, grabbed it, and smashed it against the wall. His arm swept across a small table, and sent a bowl of apples crashing to the floor. He cried out, and began to punch the wall, again and again.

Fjornir ran to his room. When he opened the door, Ralof stared at him. “You,” he said in a vicious, low voice. Ralof stomped toward Fjornir and his hand landed across Fjornir's throat, shoving Fjornir against the door frame. “You should have killed me! I should be in Sovngarde now! With Brynja!”

Ralof's grip, fueled by rage, was surprisingly strong. Fjornir tried to break his grasp, but failed. Eirin came running out of her room, and gasped when she saw what was happening. “Ralof! What are you doing!?” She ran to the men, but Ralof pushed her away, hard. Her back hit the wall next to Ralof's bed. Fjornir gripped Ralof's forearm, struggling to break free. Ralof's hand began to tighten.

“Ralof!” Eirin shouted.

Fjornir closed his eyes. He took whatever breath into his lungs that he could. When he opened his eyes again, he looked at Ralof, and Shouted, “ _FUS... ROH.”_ The force of the Shout stunned Ralof and pushed him back against the opposite wall of the bedroom. Fjornir rubbed his throat. Ralof slowly stood. He walked calmly up to the Dragonborn, and stood there, looking at the man who took everything from him. Eirin, Sovngarde, happiness. Fjornir began to say Ralof's name, but before he could finish, Ralof punched Fjornir in the jaw, then ran out of the house.


	26. Promises

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ralof finds his happiness.
> 
> [Chapter inspired while sitting on an airplane, listening to music. Listen to Coldplay's "Fix You" for the feels... This chapter nearly wrote itself.]

Ralof came back to Breezehome around dawn. He went up to his room and packed his few belongings. Just as he was about to leave, Eirin emerged from the basement.

"Running away, are you?," she asked.

Ralof stopped in his tracks, but did not turn to face her.

"I suppose I understand.... I did something similar all those years ago, only under... _slightly_ different circumstances.... But you shouldn't take your anger out on your son."

He dropped his burlap sack, then turned and looked at the woman he still desperately loved. "I just... I can't be here anymore. With you, with Fjornir.... Seeing you with the children, it just makes me... I keep remembering...." He looked away into empty space. “I always knew you would be a wonderful mother.”

Eirin frowned. “And you're a wonderful father, Ralof.”

“Those should be our children, Eirin.” He spoke softly. His eyes were red from crying. “You're already a mother to my son....”

She felt tears come to her eyes. In truth, she felt the same. She had been meant to be with Ralof, meant to have children with him and settle into a nice house in Riverwood. If she had not met Fjornir, and had Fjornir not been perfect for her in every way, she would surely be married to Ralof at this very moment, living in a house in Riverwood, possibly with twins. In the brief moments that passed before she spoke again, she wondered if the Divines had fated her and Fjornir to meet in order to create Nehenarah, and if they had therefore designed the rest of her earlier life. She thought that if this were the case, then the Divines had gone about their business in the most destructive manner possible. She took a deep breath, walked up to Ralof, and grasped his hand. "He's your son, Ralof. _Your_ son. _Brynja's_ son. I'm just his wet nurse because I happen to be nursing 'Narah anyway. If I hadn't been nursing, we wouldn't be in this situation. Though a mother's milk is best, you would have found a way to feed the child.”

"No," he said. "You have been his mother. The Divines saw to that, made sure Brynjarr would have a mother...."

Eirin sighed. "A child doesn't need a mother, Ralof. You... _you_ are his family. Gerdur and Hod, even Lydia, they are all Brynjarr's family. That's why we insisted you stay here, to be with him. He needs to be around you now, Ralof.... You have been a good, attentive and loving father. I know this is awkward, but if it makes you more comfortable, Fjornir could stay at Jorrvaskr. You have no reason to leave."

"I don't think he would like that very much....” He looked down and cleared his throat. “I just need... I need a break, Eirin. I need to not be here. Every time I look at Brynjarr.... I see her. I see her dead on that bed. Our bed....” He wiped away a tear. “I need to get away from this. All of this. I can't take Brynjarr with me, away from you. He needs someone who can feed and care for him properly...." He picked up his sack and hung it across his body. "I will not be gone long." He cupped her cheek with his palm, then ran his fingers through her loose, wavy brown hair. When he leaned forward, he nearly kissed her lips, but instead kissed her forehead. "Tell Fjornir I'm sorry, about...."

"I will," Eirin said softly.

Ralof turned to leave, and did not look back. Following him partway down the road, Eirin watched him walk toward the gates of Whiterun. "May the Divines light your way, Ralof," she said softly. "Mara, please take away his pain...."

\--

Ralof walked up the stone steps toward the Palace of the Kings. The guards nodded a greeting at their fellow veteran Stormcloak. Ralof took a deep breath, and pushed on the enormous door, opening it slowly.

The King looked up across the main hall from his throne. His heart skipped a beat. Every time those doors opened, Ulfric hoped it was Ralof. Jorleif and Galmar were standing in front of him, talking about the Gray Quarter. Ulfric strained to see the figure entering his palace. The man was dressed in hide traveling clothes, but had a familiarity about him. His head was hung low as he pushed open the door. The man's long blonde hair hid his face from view. When he entered and looked up, he looked directly at Ulfric from clear across the hall. As soon as the man looked up and his hair was flung back from covering his face, Ulfric recognized him. The words Jorleif and Galmar spoke faded into the ether. Time slowed. Ralof stood tall before the closing palace door, staring at Ulfric, unable or unwilling to move forward.

Ulfric rose from his throne. Jorleif and Galmar stopped talking, then their gaze shifted to where Ulfric was looking. The King stepped down, slowly, from the platform. He separated Jorleif and Galmar and stepped between them, his gaze locked on Ralof. He took several more steps, then stopped.

Ralof's heart was pounding so hard he could hear it. Walk, he commanded himself, just walk up to him. You are comrades, after all. He was paralyzed with fear.

Ulfric's breath stopped. He could barely believe his eyes. He had prayed for Ralof to return to Windhelm, return to him. Mara had been listening. Ulfric took one tentative step forward, and another, slowly making his way passed the immense banquet tables.

Ralof followed Ulfric's cue, and advanced slowly toward his comrade. His King. His lover. His heart felt like it may explode.

The gap between them closed. Faster and faster their feet carried them to one another. The steward and second-in-command ceased to exist. Nothing and no one else existed outside of their world.

Like crashing waves, the two men came together in a violently passionate embrace. Ulfric grabbed Ralof's cheeks and pressed his lips against Ralof's. Ralof's fingers tugged at Ulfric's braids, intertwined with his strawberry blonde hair, clinging on as if his life depended on it. Their mouths sucked onto one another's, wanting to absorb the other man's life force.

Ralof began to sob. Loud, shaking sobs that the other two men in the room heard as they stared in awe at the scene. Ulfric felt Ralof's tears streaming down his face and over his fingers, which caused Ulfric to cry. They fell to the floor on their knees, kissing, crying.

“Ulfric...." Ralof sobbed through the only word he could manage to voice.

Ulfric kissed him harder. "I should have married you," he managed to choke out. "It should have been you."

Their lips refused to part. Their hands caressed each other's cheeks, held each other's necks, locked one another into their embrace. They had one another now - never again would they part. Their arms wrapped around one another and squeezed tight.

"She died," Ralof managed to say. "She gave me a son."

Ulfric pulled himself back and looked at Ralof. He brushed his hair aside and kissed him once more. "I love you," Ulfric said quietly, wrapping his arms around his lover again. "I love you, I love you, I love you," he repeated between kisses. "Never leave me again. Never leave...."

Just as those words passed his lips, Silda walked into the hall from the upper floor. As she watched her husband kiss and caress Ralof, all of her suspicions were finally confirmed. Jorleif and Galmar did not hear her approach. Their gazes were transfixed on the two kissing men. Silda slinked back into the war room, then proceeded to storm back up the steps to her chambers.

Ralof's fingers dug into the back of Ulfric's hair and he buried his face against the King's neck. "I love you, too." Their tears continued through their embrace.

Jorleif turned to Galmar. "What are we going to do?," he asked the war hero quietly.

Galmar shrugged. "There's nothing we can do, now," he said.

Jorleif sighed.


	27. Pasts and Futures

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Children grow...

 “He's too young, _Bear_ ,” Eirin said to Fjornir.

“Sixteen is not too young.” Fjornir inspected the sword Eorlund had made. He held it up to Eirin. He stepped back and moved with the weapon, testing its balance. He raised his arm and looked down the length of the Skyforged steel, its tip pointed at Eirin's face. “ _You_ just don't want Haming to grow up yet.” Fjornir grinned. Eirin made a face that told Fjornir that she knew he was right but did not want to admit it. “Besides,” he said before re-wrapping the sword in a dark black cloth, “you'll have another baby to care for soon enough.” He tucked the cloth-wrapped sword atop a tall bookshelf, then walked over to Eirin and kissed her. “Vilkas said Haming's form is truly impressive, particularly for someone so young.”

“See, he _is_ young.” Eirin crossed her arms over her chest, and rested them on her swollen belly.

Fjornir smiled. “You will always think that, _Dyra._ ” He kissed her cheek. “Don't worry, I'll request that Aela and Farkas not recruit him into the Circle.”

“I'm more worried about him being recruited to Sovngarde before he can even live his life,” she said. “Let him be a werewolf, if that's what he wants. Maybe then he'd have a better chance of not being killed in some bandit hideout....”

Fjornir wrapped his arms around his wife. Her swollen belly pressed against him. “It's true, as a werewolf he would be somewhat more resilient.... But if Haming dies as a werewolf, he may never get to Sovngarde. As far as I know, all of the Glemoril Witches are dead. I have only two of their heads left, and I promised Farkas to save one for him, and though Aela says she doesn't want to be cured, I am saving one for her, too. Haming would spend eternity in Hircine's hunting grounds unless cured, the way I cured Kodlak after he died.”

“Right, right, I forgot....” She frowned. “I'm glad you found a way to preserve those things, by the way. The whole of Breezehome was beginning to stink.”

Fjornir laughed. “Anyway, Haming is a true Hunter, like Aela,” Fjornir said. “He may actually... _like_ hunting for all of eternity. He may actually make a fine werewolf.”

“Don't... just... let's not talk about that, please. He isn't even in the Circle, yet. I don't want to think about it.”

“Alright, alright.” Fjornir kissed Eirin's forehead. “Farkas likely won't be a problem, but Aela is so... well, she worships Hircine, what can I say?”

“Just tell them to never mention it to Haming. Let him join the Companions, fine.” She sighed, slumping into a chair. She was exhausted from doing nothing.

“I thought you said you'd rather him be a werewolf,” Fjornir smiled. He walked behind her to rub her shoulders.

“I'd rather him be a farmer. Marry a local girl. Sell cabbages and die an old man.”

Fjornir leaned forward. He kissed the top of her head, and his hands grazed the curve of her breasts as he bent to hug her from behind. “At the very least, _Dyra_ , he's going to be a hunter for a living. We've known that since we adopted him. Would you rather him go off into the wilds alone to kill deer, or off into a cavern full of bandits with a team of warriors, helping humanity in any way he can?”

Eirin sighed. “You're right,” she conceded.

“As always,” Fjornir said.

“Not always,” Eirin corrected.

Fjornir chuckled. “Almost always.”

–

Ulfric stared at the paper he had taken over an hour to write words on. He read the words, over and over, making sure there were no errors, and trying to imagine how the recipient would feel while reading them. He traced the inked lines with his fingertips, finishing with a swirling “U.S.” at the bottom of the paper. He hoped the words would capture all of the emotions he was feeling, and that the paper, upon being touched by the recipient, may send along all of the physical reactions Ulfric hoped his words would convey.

He turned to the letter he had received three weeks ago, then to the pile of letters he kept in a locked box to which only he had the key. His hand went to his chest and felt for the piece of paper folded between layers of fabric. The first letter, the one that started it all, which he had received four years ago, he kept pressed against his heart. The folds had started to wear after years of folding and unfolding, but the inked words were perfectly clear. He read the letter at least four times a month, sometimes more. He read it when he missed its author, when he felt angry or sad, or lonely. Even with the company of his Queen and their two children, his loneliness was at times unbearable. The letters helped.

The King unfolded the worn letter and reread the words. He had memorized them long ago, but he only heard the author's voice when he held the paper in his hands. The letter was from Ralof, and it detailed his life after the war, all the months that he lost when he did not have his memories, the relationship and love he found with his long-time friend Brynja, what had happened to his soul, and Brynja's death. It went on to divulge everything Ralof was feeling for Ulfric, and had felt for him since he'd known him.

 _Fjornir told me today about Sovngarde, about my soul, about the choice I made,_ Ralof wrote. “To the Dreamsleeve,” Ulfric said aloud. Upon hearing the news, old feelings had awakened inside Ralof with more urgency than they had before. _This is the only life we will have together_ , said the last words of Ralof's letter. No request, no question, no demand, not even a suggestion – just reality. “The only life,” Ulfric repeated. If one life with the man he loved was all he would have, he would certainly have it.

He despised Silda, now. Ostensibly, they were a happily married royal couple with one boy and one newborn girl. A royal line, though he did not even know if his children were truly his. After a disturbing anonymous letter arrived detailing the Queen's infidelities with a particular guard, Ulfric had his interrogators investigate the matter. Sure enough, the guard was guilty, and was executed quietly. Had the execution been public, he would have had to implicate Silda as well, and he did not want to do that. Not yet, anyway.

Ulfric wanted nothing more than to have Ralof move to Windhelm, live in the quarters nearest to the royal chambers, and be there, just be there for Ulfric. Only Jorleif and Galmar knew the truth about the King and his private life, and they would never reveal it. Jorleif was the mediator of letters between Ulfric and Ralof, after all. After the scene he and Ralof had made in the main hall, the two men had been nothing short of professional. Ulfric was grateful for that. The steward and commander were more surprised at Ulfric's unexpected outburst of emotions than anything else. Galmar had a good chuckle about it, joking that he had always thought that Ulfric's heart was made of steel. The joking ended there, however. The two mostly felt sorry for the King and his lover. Jorleif in particular, seeming as he was the one pushing for a marriage to a woman.

Even his closest friends did not know it, but Ulfric was a closet romantic. That day in the main hall, kissing and crying and holding Ralof, was his true self. He even loved reading and writing poetry, though he would never admit to it to anyone. Except Ralof. Only Ralof. Ulfric recalled the first response he had written to Ralof and silently recited the words.

 

_The one I am missing_

_The better half of me_

_In the wrong place_

_While I justify my life_

 

_Come home, come home_

_I have been waiting_

_So long, so long_

 

_War never ends_

_But what I fight for_

_Is my only love_

_For you and me_

 

_Everything I'm not_

_Is everything you are_

_You should be here_

_It should have been you_

 

_Come home, come home_

_I will be waiting_

Ulfric cleared his throat and put the letter back into the strongbox. Two weeks after he responded to Ralof's first letter, Ralof arrived in Windhelm. That night, Ulfric spent the night in his lover's arms in a secluded area of the palace. No one had found them – no one would have. Ulfric cried more that night than Ralof had ever seen, more than Ulfric ever remembered. He swore to Ralof that one day they would be together, however he might make that happen. Ralof wanted to marry him, Ulfric knew this, but he couldn't just divorce Silda, not without the disapproval of his people and of Mara.

 

He picked up Ralof's most recent letter. Every sentence was a caress against his skin.

 

_Eirin was lost to me since the day she met the Dragonborn, I know this now. And I knew it the moment I punched you, that day in the main hall, that I was making the biggest mistake of my life. I never should have run out on you. I never should have left Windhelm. I should be kissing you now, holding your face, married to you, adopting children with you. Instead, I'm living with the mess we've made. Don't give up on us._

 

Ulfric refolded the letter and returned it to the pile. He then stared at the words on his latest reply to Ralof. The beginning of the letter was an update on his wife and children, of the unrest in the Gray Quarter, and on his insistence that Ralof travel to Windhelm again. Six months without having Ralof in his arms was too long. He ended the letter with yet another poem. However short, he felt that the few words said it all.

_Until my bones are dust_

_And Nirn turns to rust_

_I will love you_

 

_Until storms take us all_

_And Sovngarde falls_

_I will love you_

 

_\--_

Lydia reclined, naked, in the large bed she now shared with Vilkas that replaced his small one. She played with the vampire tooth she wore as a trophy around her neck.

“I still can't get over the fact that Fjornir's mother was a murdering vampire,” she recalled, giggling.

“This again? That was over three years ago,” Vilkas said as he undressed. He cuddled up next to his lover.

“I can't help it, it's one of my favorite memories of _the Dragonborn_.” She said his title in an overly dramatic voice. “' _Mother! No!'_ ” She laughed. “I did him a favor by killing her. Otherwise, he'd have had to do it himself.”

Vilkas sighed. “I will never believe you that the tooth you took was _not_ from his mother's mouth.”

“You can't prove it is, seeming as how her body is now dust.” Lydia grinned. She dragged the large, pointed tooth against her naked skin. “Anyway, she was no one. This belonged to that older vampire she was working for.”

“Mhmm. Remind me never to piss you off enough for you to hold a grudge against me,” he said before kissing her cheek. “I like my teeth as they are.”

“Oh, I wouldn't want your _teeth_ as a trophy,” she said plainly, keeping a straight face, but eventually her face gave way to a wicked grin.

“Well, you already have my heart securely wrapped around your finger,” he traced the plain silver ring she wore. “Though I would prefer it if you took it from me, officially, in front of my friends. But, you know, whatever....”

“Talk about grudges...,” she grumbled.

Vilkas chuckled. “Not a grudge, my darling, merely adamant tenacity that one day Mara will watch us be wed.” He kissed her neck and sucked on the supple flesh.

–

Farkas hammered into Ysolda. Her large breasts bounced with each thrust. He hated that she wore her hair short – he preferred something he could grip. But the woman drove him wild with her insatiable sexual appetite. The campfire light made Ysolda's red hair and tawny skin glow orange, and a thin sheen of sweat made her body glisten. He could fuck the woman all day long, his body allowing.

He didn't even mind that the Khajiit, enclosed in their tents, could hear their chorus of moans, smacking, yelling, and grunting. In fact, he almost preferred the audience. Traveling with the traders alongside Ysolda had been an interesting adventure. The traders saw their fair share of shady dealers, criminals, grumpy guards, and others that sometimes needed a sword in their face to get a point across.

The money that came along with being essentially a bodyguard was unexpectedly bountiful. The foreign places he'd seen were extraordinary. The various merchant skills he'd learned from the Khajiit were invaluable. The ability to shift into a werewolf without the fear of townsfolk screaming their heads off was delightful.

As his hands gripped the flesh of the woman's backside, he thought that the perks of traveling with Ysolda trumped them all.

\--

Nehenarah burst through the doors to Fjornir and Eirin's bedroom at Jorrvaskr. “Mama! Papa! Look what I can do!” The four-year-old was all smiles. Her green-and-brown eyes sparkled.

“What can you do, my girl?” Fjornir knelt down to her.

“Watch!” She held out her left hand and a soft yellow glow emerged from her palm. She then held out her right hand, and sparks crackled between her fingers.

Eirin's eyes went wide. “'Narah! Stop that!” Eirin ran to her daughter and grasped her right wrist. The sparks died, as did the glow from the girl's left hand.

“Why, Mama? You taught me.”

“To Heal! I taught you to Heal! How did you learn to make sparks!?”

“Calm down, Eirin,” Fjornir said. “We knew she might be able to do this.”

“I just _made_ them,” the girl said in a quiet voice. Brynjarr and Ralof walked into the room then. “He saw,” she said, pointing to Brynjarr. “B', tell Mama you saw me make the sparks.”

“She did,” the boy confirmed. “She burned leafs.” He held a large, burnt leaf in front of his face.

Ralof lightly gripped the boy's shoulder. “Leaves,” he corrected his son. He and the boy were visiting from Riverwood. Brynjarr and Nehenarah had been friends since before they could crawl, so Ralof and Brynjarr visited often.

Brynjarr blushed. “Leaves,” he said quietly.

“I _told_ you,” Nehenarah said, triumphant.

“'Narah,” Eirin said, pulling her daughter aside, “you have to understand - those sparks can be dangerous.”

“Why?” the girl asked.

“Because if you hit a person with sparks, they will be like the leaf, only worse.”

“Worse like the rat?” Brynjarr asked.

Eirin's jaw dropped. She looked at the boy, then back at her daughter. “Did you kill a rat?”

The girl nodded.

Eirin pulled Nehenarah to her for a hug, then kissed her forehead. “Let's have a little talk about your talents, hmm?”

“Ok, Mama.” Her voice then lowered to a whisper when she asked, “Can we also talk about Ghost Man?”


	28. Horizon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More pieces of the puzzle to the Dovahkiir are revealed...

 Ralof and Brynjarr said their goodbyes and headed back to Riverwood. Fjornir and Eirin sat down with their daughter.

“'Narah, what do you mean, 'Ghost Man'?”

“The man who talks to me,” Nehenarah said.

“Who talks to you?” Fjornir asked. He had the sudden urge to punch whatever man was secretly talking to his baby girl.

“I don't know,” the girl answered.

“How do you not know who talks to you?” Eirin was growing frantic.

“Because I can't see him,” Nehenarah said.

“Are you hearing voices, 'Narah?” Fjornir asked.

“Just one, Papa, the Ghost Man.”

Eirin frowned. “What does he say?” she asked.

“Umm, my name, and, some things I don't know.” Her small feet kicked the air nervously as she sat on a chair.

“What you don't know? You mean things you don't understand?” Fjornir asked.

Nehenarah nodded. “Not our words.”

Eirin and Fjornir exchanged worried looks.

“Alright, 'Narah, we'll talk about Ghost Man a little more later. But first I need to talk to you about those sparks. You need to be very careful with them,” Eirin said.

“You already said,” the girl replied.

“Yes, and you know that they can hurt people. And rats. And all other living things, in fact. But you need to be careful how _often_ you use your talents. Using them can make you very tired.”

“No they don't,” the girl said.

“They don't?” Eirin asked.

“Nope!” Nehenarah stood. She held out her palms and let both hands glow, then sparkle, then alternated glowing and sparkling. She danced around the room, a play of light encircling her. Then both hand glowed brighter. The right hand, the hand with the sparks, crackled loudly, and then a bolt of lightning shot up to the ceiling, singeing the wood. Eirin and Fjornir stood, frozen in panic. The light from Nehenarah's palms dissipated, and she stood there, grinning at her parents. “See? Fine!”

–

“What news of the rioting?” Ulfric asked Galmar.

“Increasing in intensity, I'm afraid,” Galmar replied.

Ulfric wanted to toss the map table across the war room, but restrained himself. “I've had enough....” He sighed. His large body hunched over the map table, knuckles white from gripping the sides. “Write to the Stormcloak veterans. Ready the standing army. And don't forget to write to the Dragonborn, as well.”

“We can't fight the elves, Ulfric,” said Galmar. “What message would that send?”

The King sighed. “It's just a preemptive measure, Galmar. If we're going to negotiate with the Dunmer, I need protection.”

“But an entire army?”

“Don't worry, some veterans... some won't be able to come, nor fight.... I was actually thinking of using the soldiers to help rebuild the Gray Quarter, or at least fix what is in disrepair,” Ulfric said.

“We barely have enough gold as it is, we can't afford to rebuild the Gray Quarter right now,” Jorleif chimed in.

“We can still hear them out,” Ulfric scowled. “We'll find the funds, somehow. What we truly cannot afford are more riots. I heard a Dunmer merchant was killed by trampling a few weeks ago. That cannot happen again.”

“Since when are you so concerned about the welfare of _elves_?” Galmar asked.

Ulfric gave his second-in-command a stern look. “Since I became King, Galmar.” Ulfric ran his fingers along his strawberry-blonde beard. “I also had another thought that may help quell the riots.”

“And that is?” asked Galmar.

Ulfric looked at his two advisors. “We need to somehow get Brunwulf Free-Winter allied with us. I think I may have an idea how.”

–

“What? No, Fjornir, I'm due any day now,” Eirin said as she waddled toward Jorrvaskr from Arcadia's shop.

“I'm not saying I'll go immediately, but I can at least send some gold along.” Fjornir offered his right arm to his wife, and held the letter from Windhelm in his left hand.

“How much gold?”

“I don't know. Some. And I can take more with me when I go.”

Eirin thought a moment. “What is the elves's problem, exactly?”

“Cramped, dilapidated living quarters, mainly. That, and a general dislike and distrust of them by the Nords.”

“Hmm,” Eirin said.

Fjornir looked over at her. “What are you thinking?”

“Why not give them Helgen?”

“Helgen? But it's in ruins.”

“Yes, it is, now.... But it was once a wonderful little town.” Eirin smiled at the memory of her childhood. “Give the elves the town. Help them rebuild it, or help them help themselves, financially.”

Fjornir smiled. “That... that is a brilliant idea.” He stopped walking, pulled Eirin to him and kissed her. “You're brilliant. I'll send word to King Ulfric and Jarl Dengeir. Perhaps between the three of us, we can make your plan work.”

“Perhaps then the elves won't loath the Stormcloaks any longer, won't try to have you killed....”

“Perhaps,” Fjornir said. They continued walking. Later, Fjornir said, “Do you think 'Narah is hearing Dragonspeak?”

“Mm, I was wondering that, actually.”

“It may have something to do with her being _Dovahkiir_. I should sit down with her to see if she remembers any words.”

“When are we going to be told what the _Dovahkiir_ is, anyway?”

“I don't know, _Dyra.”_

Eirin sighed. “She can manipulate energies without tiring. How is that even possible?”

Fjornir shrugged. “It likely has something to do with who she is. Who you and I are.”

“I'm not surprised she can Heal, all the women of my line can, but... I tired, my mother tired.... If she doesn't tire from Healing or creating lightning....”

“She'll be unstoppable,” Fjornir finished her thought.

Eirin's fingers dug into the flesh Fjornir's forearm. “I need to make her understand that she can't just... whip it out. I don't want her to be used as a weapon.”

“Like me,” Fjornir said.

“Like you,” Eirin confirmed.

–

“Umm, 'brit', he says 'brit' lots. And... 'keem'.... Oh, I remember, 'dee brit keem'. Yeah. He says that lots, but I don't know what he means. Why don't I know those words, Papa?” Nehenarah was eating a sweetroll while Fjornir asked her about what the Ghost Man says to her.

“Because they're not from our language, my girl,” Fjornir answered. “Do you remember anything else?”

“Hmm...,” the girl licked her sticky lips and thought. “'Saran', and, um, a long word, um, 'al... alloooonteeeed', yeah, 'alloonteed'. And...,” she bit her lip, “'zee'..., um, 'zee mo na', I think... then, 'say dove'. He says those lasts words lots, too: 'zee mo na say dove'.”

“Very good, you remembered a lot,” Fjornir smiled at his daughter. “Now why don't you go outside and play, hmm?”

“Okay!” Nehenarah ran from her parent's bedroom in Jorrvaskr and out the front doors.

Fjornir stood, then walked over to the bed where Eirin was resting. “Did you get any of that?” he asked her.

“No, except for _brit_. You call me that enough it should be my name,” she winked, but then frowned. “Who is calling our daughter beautiful, Fjornir?”

The Dragonborn sat on the bed at Eirin's side. “I don't know. I suppose we'll find out, in time. I'm just glad it's Dragonspeak and not some Daedra wooing my daughter.”

“Hmph.... What were the other words?”

Fjornir sighed, then looked to Eirin and grasped her hand. “I don't think you're going to like my answer,” he said.

“Just tell me, Fjornir.”

He frowned, but obliged. “ _Dii brit kiim. Saraan aluntiid,_ _Ziimonah_ _sedov_ _.”_ He kissed Eirin's hand.

Eirin stared blankly. “I admit, I'm getting a bit rusty with my Dragonspeak....”

Frown lines deepened around Fjornir's mouth. He swallowed hard. “It means, 'My beautiful wife. Await the future, Spirit Mother of Dragonkind'....”

Eirin's water broke.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> End Part 2. Stay tuned for Part 3!


End file.
